Love Me When I'm Gone
by Kella2
Summary: **Chapter 11 now up!** Sorry I haven't updated in a while. My computer took the quickest fireball to hell... Please Review. It'll make me feel better. ;)
1. Chapter 1

Summary: After the events of "Help" (and episodes previous), Buffy realizes that the only way to help Spike is to keep him close by... and admit to him what she won't admit to herself.  R&R, please! This story was previously on the Buffy/Spike Central site before it collapsed, so Chap. 2 is a tad different. Proper thank-you's go to the cast and crew of BtVS, I don't own them Joss Whedon does. If I owned them, Buffy wouldn't have been such a bitch and would have have given Spike a big happy at the end of Season 6…::sigh:: oh well, also thanks go to 3 Doors Down for use of their song "When I'm Gone". If you haven't heard it before, download it or listen to it before, during, and after reading this story. Ciao! 

~~Kella~~

Chapter 1 

****

There's another world inside of me 

_That you may never see_

_There are secrets in this life that I can't hide…_

            "Weak. That's the word. No Hercules here, Achilles has a scorpion in his foot…"

            Buffy stood there silently, tears welling up in her eyes as she watched her once-strong, would-be paramour battle himself with words, none of them making any sense to her.

            "Got to find the spark, get the fire started. Got to start the fire, Make the girl warm. Too many buggers want the heat… NO! You get away from there! It's not your turn!" He scolded the air angrily, then, after casting Buffy a heart-wrenching look, put his hands on either side of his head and cried. "Got to have a pass to go there. Take a ticket, stand in line. Mustn't blow out the spark…"

            By now, since their encounter at the church, Buffy knew what Spike meant by "spark"… his _soul_. A tear slipped unbidden down her cheek as she closed her eyes and mourned for him. Suddenly, she felt his cool hand cupping her face, wiping the errant tear away with the pad of his thumb.

            "Shh, pet," he crooned, during this rare moment of mental clarity. "Don't cry, you're strong. Always were. Till I went and got my bloody heel poked."

            Her brows knit together as she tried to determine whether or not he had slipped again, when she remembered his earlier ramblings about Achilles. She forced herself to form a wavering smile. "Leave it to you to go all Greek warrior on me."

            He lowered his eyes, as if meeting her gaze was a privilege he didn't deserve. "Did I frighten you? A couple of weeks ago, at the church. Did I…" his gaze flickered up to hers briefly, "hurt you?"

            Her words caught in her throat momentarily. "Spike, I don't know how to react. How to feel." She covered his hand, still on her cheek, with her own. "I don't know how to bury the hurt from our past, but I so want to take all of the hurt you're going through and bury it, too."

            His eyes snapped up to hers in surprise. It was the first thing she'd said to him that was even _close_ to loving. "You'd have to bury _me_, love," he murmured. "It's too much a part of me to remove." He continued stroking her cheekbone with his thumb, staring at her as if committing her beauty to memory.

            She noticed his scrutiny and squeezed his hand. "Spike, don't."

            Chastised, he dropped his eyes to the floor of the basement between them and tried to pull his hand from her grasp. "Right. Sorry. Mustn't. No… wasn't my turn…"

            She could feel she was losing him again, so with her other hand she took his chin and gently guided it so he was looking at her again. "No, Spike… Don't look at me as if you'll never see me again." 

            His lips quivered and for a moment she was afraid he would break into sobs. But he surprised her by throwing his head back and laughing. Not an evil laugh, or a sarcastic laugh, but a belly laugh, as if what she had said was delightfully funny. After a moment, however, irony colored his humor and he stared her in the eyes. "But, that's how I've always looked at you, pet… well, when I wasn't looking at you like you'd lost your damn mind. But then, I seem to have ever-so-slightly misplaced my own, so…" He trailed off and studied her, lost in memories. Finally, he breathed softly, "No… whenever I had the chance, I would study every movement, every curve, every feature. The way you talked, the way you looked, the way you looked at me, in those rare moments that you weren't hating my existence." During his pause, he saw her wince slightly and smiled a bit. "I never knew if the moment I had to look at you would be the last. I never knew from one meeting to the next whether you would decide after you were through that _we _were through… So, I always took the opportunity to notice everything about you." He looked her deeply in the eyes. "You never realized I was doing it because you didn't want to."

Somewhere in this darkness 

_There's a light that I can't find…_

_Maybe it's too far away, _

Or maybe I'm just blind… Maybe I'm just blind… 

            Buffy blinked as the truth of his words stung her. She _hadn't_ wanted to notice what he was doing. It would have placed an element of something deeper than meaningless sex into the scenario between them. She looked at him, stroking the hand that was stroking her face. "Spike…" she sighed, "I'm so sorry… I was a bitch."

            He blinked and, with complete innocent candor that only the mentally deranged can muster, said, "You know, I've heard that about you…"

            She giggled softly under her breath, in self-deprecation. "Yeah, I guess you have…"  She reached up with her other hand to touch the soft blond curls at his forehead, smiling as she thought how much better he looked with his hair like this. 

            The look in his eyes was heartbreaking. He was like a beaten puppy that didn't know what to make of the drop of affection he was suddenly receiving. He pulled away from her touch, wrapping his arms around himself and started pacing the floor. "No ticket. No stamp. No entry…"

            Buffy sighed, casting her eyes down to the floor where he was pacing. Things had been going so well… she had seemed to be reaching him, and she had felt… something… "Spike," she began softly.

            "No. Nononono… William is a bad man!"

            "Spike," she said again, when he quieted a bit, "I never got the chance to thank you for your help the other night. With Cassie…"

            He stopped pacing and stared off into space ahead of him. "She'll tell you…"

            "What?" Buffy looked at him, confused.

            His gaze met hers and she could have sworn she saw a spark of love there, what he hadn't managed to tamp down. "Someday, she'll tell you…"

            Suddenly, Buffy knew those words had come from Cassie. That Cassie had spoken to Spike before she died. About _her_. It made the words that Cassie had said to her right before her death, about her making a difference, more significant. 

            _You will…_

            Deep inside of her, something made a decision. She moved over to him gently and took his hands in hers, pulling him to face her. His eyes showed her nothing but confusion and puzzlement at her actions. _My God,_ she thought, _Did I really treat him that badly?_  She reached up again to stroke the side of his face with the backs of her fingers. "Spike, get your things. You're coming home."

            He was silent for a moment, then a single tear slid from the corner of his eye down the side of his face. He looked at her with pure vulnerability. "H-home?"

            The elation and terror that warred in his words almost killed her.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2 

"Are you INSANE???"

Xander's outraged cry when the pair entered the house startled them both. Spike looked at the other man, positively affronted. "Well, yes. I thought we'd established that…"

If looks could have burned, Spike would have been a cinder on Buffy's entryway floor.

Buffy stepped in between them, placing a hand on Xander's chest. "Look: now not the best time to make for an unhappy Buffy. M'kay?" 

"But Buffy…"

"You know? I hear an awful lot of that lately… I was so busy trying to make _you_ guys happy last year that I made the one person who actually understood me miserable. It's my fault that he's like this, and so it will be _my_ job to make him better. Understood?"

Spike said nothing during this whole exchange, just kept an even gaze with Xander, ready to jump at any sudden move the man made.

Right at that moment, Willow came through the archway of the kitchen with a tray of confections. Rather charred confections, actually. "I made cookies!" she said, smiling at Buffy, then looking with confusion at Spike. 

Buffy had a hard time getting Spike up the stairs for all of his laughter.

            Spike stood riveted in place at the entrance to Buffy's room, as if afraid to move or he would be staked. He watched her carefully as she reached into her closet and pulled out an inflatable mattress and air pump. She laid it on the floor about five or six feet away from her bed. Looking up at him, she gestured to the electrical outlet.

            "I trust you understand the concept of electricity," she winked.

            He felt his old sense of humor return momentarily. "Plugging something in, eh? Trust you brilliant American types to make something that is quite powerful when you plug something into a hole." He raised an eyebrow and was secretly delighted when her cheeks flushed crimson. Ducking his head, he moved over to the outlet and plugged in the pump. The mattress started to fill with a soft whirring noise.

            Buffy stared at his back for a few moments, and then went back to rummaging through her closet for pillows and comforters. "I'm sorry it's not a four-poster bed with a canopy, but…"

            "Do you think this is going to work?"

            His soft interruption took her by surprise and she stared at the mattress. "Huh? Oh, yeah! It works fine. Mom and I used it a couple of years ago to go camping… Kinda the whole female-bonding thing and…"

            "No, Buffy." He looked over his shoulder at her. "This. Us. Sleeping in the same room… the same house. That."

            Her shoulders slumped a little as her gaze dropped to the floor. "Honestly? I-I don't know." She looked up to see him heave an unneeded sigh. "But, Spike, I do feel much better about you staying here than in the high school basement. You're safe here."

            He twitched visibly and she could tell the "Greek chorus" of voices was causing him to lose his tenuous grasp on reality. "B-but what… w-what about _you_? You're not safe with me here… are you?" He darted a look towards the bathroom and bolted away from it, almost like he feared that it would suddenly shoot rays of sunlight out towards him. "Oh! No! William's been a naughty boy! Spark's caught fire! Fire's a blaze! Everything'll burn! Save the pets!" He covered his face with his hands and started weeping.

            Buffy massaged her temples, not even bothering to sort out the bizarre verbiage.

            "Save the pets?"

            She turned and saw Xander waiting in the doorway. "Wait outside, Xander."

            He didn't move. "Buffy, not loving this plan…"

            "And obviously _so_ not caring about my wishes or the boundaries of my bedroom," she pointed out firmly, pushing him in the chest until he was standing in the hallway. "Wait here, or wait downstairs. Your choice." And she shut the door in his face.

            Buffy stood there, her back pressed against the door, for a few seconds as she tried to decide what to do about the crying vampire in her bedroom. She found herself wishing that Angel were there to help her sort out this "soul" business and mentally slapped herself. Thinking of Angel wasn't going to help Spike. Spike wasn't Angel.

            She walked across the room, slowly, so as to appear non-threatening. When she finally stood toe-to-toe with him, she brought her hands up to his shoulders and gently stroked them. He tried to flinch away from her, as he had in the church, but she wouldn't allow him the retreat; with the same amount of gentleness, but with more firmness, she squeezed his shoulders.

            "Shh…Spike," she whispered softly. "It's all right. Shh… stop crying. Everything's going to be okay."

            "No," he moaned. "Not okay. Definitely not okay. Thought I had a pass, but the stamp wasn't on it. Pass was revoked. I'll be beaten now, for sure…" His tears began afresh.

            Her heart cried with him. She was beginning to understand just what she had driven him to with her constant abuse. She had been in pain and had chosen to direct it at the one who truly loved her, soul not withstanding, as a way to cope. She was worse than the soulless being she had accused him of being.

            Noticing that the mattress had finished inflating, she sealed it and turned off the pump. Spike stood motionless, still weeping. She covered the mattress with a blanket and placed a pillow there. With a spare comforter she carefully covered the window on the opposite wall so tightly that she was sure that no sunlight would ever enter that room again. Again, she placed a comforting hand on Spike's shoulder, massaging it gently. Slowly, she guided him down onto the mattress and, with little help from him, guided him so that he was comfortably "tucked in". 

            He watched her, unmoving, from beneath the covers, as if unsure what to make of her generosity. She didn't know what to tell him, or herself, for that matter. She shocked the both of them as she reached out and gently stroked the curls back from his forehead, slowly, methodically, until his eyelids started to droop shut. There was no rise and fall of a sleeping chest, but she knew he was asleep. She continued her ministrations for a few more minutes, then leaned over and pressed her lips softly against his forehead. 

            "Rest now, Spike. It's time to rest."

            Closing her door behind her with a soft _click_, she saw Xander wasn't waiting for her in the hallway. She took a deep breath and went downstairs. There, she saw Xander and Dawn sitting on the couch, meeting her gaze with looks of betrayal. She bristled. They had no right to feel betrayed. All of this had happened to her. Not them. She turned slightly and saw Willow in the kitchen busying herself by making more cookies. 

            _Smart girl_, Buffy thought ruefully.

            She paced slowly into the living room, arms crossed loosely across her chest. "What's up, guys?"

            Dawn looked at her calmly. "We were hoping you could tell us."

            "What's there to tell?"

            Xander rolled his eyes and pointed up the stairs. "Oh, the fact that you've invited a rather unstable, un_dead_ individual into the house, into your_ room_…"

            "Is none of your business," Buffy finished. "Spike needs my help. I caused it. I'm going to fix it. I owe him that much."

            Xander stared at her incredulously. "So what are you, Buffy? Patron Saint of Mentally Deranged Vampires?"

            A red handprint was left on Xander's cheek in the wake of Buffy's flying hand.  "You have no right to judge me, Xander. None," she hissed dangerously. "I'm doing this because it's the right thing to do."

            Xander stood his ground, not giving her the satisfaction of him rubbing the sting out of his face. "No. The _right_ thing to do would be to impale him with something sharp and wooden."

            "Wait," Dawn interrupted. "What do you mean you caused this? How did you cause Spike to lose his grip on reality?"

            Buffy sighed and sat down on the couch, burying her face in her hands. "I treated him badly, he loved me so much… I didn't want to let him get that close."

            "Oh, but you let him get close enough to where he missed it and tried to rape you…" 

            Dawn fired Xander a look that could kill. "Xander, shut up. Now."

            Buffy shook her head at the way things were turning out. "The point is, he tried to become someone I could… love. Someone he thought that I deserved."

            "Well, he has yet to let me see him in sunlight, so I doubt that he became human…"

            Buffy looked at her sister. "Remember Angel?"

            The other two fell silent. Xander even looked shocked.

            Willow entered the room silently, afraid to become a part of this, but drawn to Buffy's simple question. "Spike? He… he got a …?"

            "Soul," Dawn breathed. "Spike somehow managed to restore his soul."

            Everyone stood silently, taking this in, while Buffy massaged her temples. She felt Xander slowly sink into the couch cushions. Dawn followed soon after, while Willow crossed to sit in the armchair. 

            "So, he pulled an Angel. Big deal. Still evil. I've been a staunch believer since we started this whole 'Chosen One' gig that just because you feel a guilt trip coming on, it doesn't mean you didn't cause massive bloody mayhem that left many people… many _loved_ ones dead…I mean…"

            "Xander," Willow cut him off, sternly. "Shut up."

            Shooting Willow a grateful look, Buffy stood up and paced the floor. "Look, I know you all live here, for all intents and purposes, too. However, this is my decision. No harm will come to Spike. He sacrificed who he was to be someone he thought I deserved. I'm going to bring him back to who he used to be. Not William the Bloody, or Spike the Torturer, but who he was after he became friends with all of us. And yes, Xander, as much as you pissed him off, as badly as you treated him, he would have risked his neck for you. He protected Dawn when I couldn't. Even after I died and showed no signs of coming back, he could have just taken off. He didn't. He stayed. He held down the fort with all of you. He deserves something for that. It's about time I gave it to him."

            Xander turned crimson and Dawn burst out laughing. This was not the response that she had anticipated to her speech. She looked at Willow, who was trying hard not to join the youngest in peals of laughter. Willow stood and whispered in Buffy's ear her unintentional use of a double entendre.

            The blush spread all the way to Buffy's ears.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note**:   Sorry this segment took so long to post. Real life's a bitch on wheels. So are custody battles, but that's another drama yet to be written… ;)    

To those of you who reviewed/e-mailed me to tell me that I wrote a great crazy Spike, ::blushes:: thank you, but attribute it to James Marsters' terrific acting ability and my innate talent for extrapolating on an already great thing. ;)  And YES there is much Spuffyness to be had, dammit. But perverted little me has to put them through the wringer first and make them all kinds of flat before I mold them for my own demented purposes and make them kiss and make/fuck up/out.

Bloodluvingirl: There is more. Trust me. Much more. I'm glad you like it. ;) And thanks for the kudos on Crazy Spike. Hopefully we'll be able to find the cure and find a happy balance between Blood-happy Spike and Off-the-bean Spike. LOL

Remember, I don't own the characters, I only wish I did. If I did, Buffy would be locked in a basement with ten thousand Fyarl demons and no weapons and Spike (pre-soul, just for the Big Bad "flavor") would be chained naked in my bedroom… ::sighs and dreams::

Reviews make me happy. Happy Kellas write more. Please make a note of it. ;)

**Chapter 3**

_Your education X-Ray cannot see under my skin_

I won't tell you a damn thing that I could not tell my friends… 

            Buffy was up most of the night, just watching him through the pitch-blackness of the room. Standing… or rather _lying_ guard. When she heard movements downstairs, she knew that both Willow and the sun were up. Soon, the smell of bacon and eggs wafted up from the kitchen and Buffy's stomach growled in protest at its own emptiness. Groggily, she quietly rolled out of bed so as not to wake the still-sleeping vampire. She softly padded to the door of her bedroom and opened it, almost yelping in surprise as Dawn was revealed in the doorway. 

            "Jesus, Dawn, you scared me!"

            The teenager raised an eyebrow. Her makeup was on, and she had her backpack slung over one shoulder. "So, we're even then." She held out a coffee mug filled with a thick red liquid. "Brought up some breakfast for Spike."

            Shocked, Buffy accepted the proffered mug. "Dawnie, where'd you get this?"

            Staring at the floor before meeting Buffy's gaze, Dawn said quietly, "If I tell you, you have to promise not to let on that I told you. Just pretend that you think I got it. Pretend I'm in trouble, even, if you want…"

            "Dawn…Where'd it come from?"

            Dawn took a deep breath. "Xander left shortly after you went upstairs to bed last night. He said he had errands to run and that he'd be back before he went home. When he came back, he had six packets of blood from the hospital in his arms, along with a stash of pig's blood from a local demon bar."

            "_Xander_ went to a demon bar and the hospital for blood?" Buffy could have fainted at this revelation.

            "No." Once again, Dawn had found an unusual interest in the carpet. "He wouldn't say much to us. He just kinda shoved the blood into Willow's arms and muttered something about Clem and how he wanted Spike healthy enough to fight back when he finally staked him." She met Buffy's gaze again briefly. "He went to Spike's old crypt, from what Willow was able to find out from Clem later, 'cuz she went to pick up some of Spike's old clothes and whatever wasn't already torched, and Clem also told her that Xander had threatened to kill him if he told anyone about Xander trying to help Spike in any way…"

            Buffy did her best to keep up with Dawn's rambling sentences, knowing the girl was still upset, and confused as she was that Xander would lift a finger for Spike except to run a wooden stake through the vampire's chest. Unsure of what else to do, she nodded.

            "Oh," was all she was able to say.

            Dawn abruptly pulled her into the hallway and closed the door quietly behind her sister. Buffy looked at her in confusion as she started talking again. "Oh, and don't worry about coming with me to school this morning. Xander's taking me, he knows you won't be coming, and I already called Principal Wood to tell him you were really sick and needed this morning off. After the thing with…" Her breath caught and she swallowed hard. "Cassie, he knows you probably need the rest. I figured you could use this time to make sure that Spike didn't get all wiggy about being in the house again, maybe get him settled?"

            Buffy felt guilty about missing work, but her lip trembled slightly at how thoughtful and grown-up Dawn had been in all of her preparations. She pulled Dawn to her and hugged her tightly. "Dawnie, I am so sorry for keeping things from you, I know you were worried about me. There was no need to be, but I appreciate it just the same. I don't mean to keep you in a small corner of my life, I'm just not sure how to balance all the things that I know need to be done with how everyone will react to them…"

            Dawn nodded against Buffy's shoulder before sniffing and making a face. "Um, Buffy, if that blood winds up in my hair or on my clothes, I am _so_ going to paint your bedroom lime green…"

            Carefully, Buffy checked. "Nope. Blood-free Dawn."

            "Good. You might want to take that to him before it gets cold."

            "Bossy much?" Buffy winked at her sister, impressed by her yet again. Every day she grew up a little more.

            "You bring out the best in me, Buffy," Dawn winked back and waved. "I've gotta go. Willow's got breakfast for me ready and I need to scarf 'n run. I'll have her leave you some breakfast on the counter, she's got class this morning, but she'll be back at one o'clock."

            And Dawn disappeared down the stairs.

            Shaking her head, still amazed, Buffy quietly entered the bedroom. Through the small patch of indirect sunlight on the floor, she could tell before she shut the door that he was awake and looking at her. "Morning," she said gently.

            "G-good morning…" she heard in the darkness. 

            "Do you mind if I turn on the lamp?"

            "Please. Don't want to be in the dark."

            The _click_ of the switch was heard as she turned on the lamp next to her bed. She smiled at him gently, and for a moment he smiled back at her, before looking down at the carpet.

            "A-are you real?" he asked quietly. "Is this real?"

            "What do you mean?"

            "Sometimes I see you… talk to you… tell you things, but it's not you. I feel you, smell you, hear you tell me we'll get through this and you want to help me, but it's not you. I blink and you're gone. Or you're there, but not hardly helpful at all…"

            She sighed and followed his gaze to the carpet. "I'm sorry…" she whispered.

            He looked up in surprise, but before he could ask her what she was sorry for, she held the mug up for inspection.

"I come bearing breakfast," she announced with a grin she didn't completely feel.

"Breakfast? As in O-negative? Or as in 'comes from a pig but isn't bacon'?" he smiled back at her, also seeming less than sincere in the effort.

She frowned slightly. "I'm not doing a taste-test, but I'm pretty sure it's high-grade stuff. Dawn brought it up."

His eyebrows shot up. "Nibblet? Thought she got all scary and wanted me charbroiled?"

"Well, scary's a pretty accurate definition, but not the kind of scary you're thinking… As for charbroiled, I think the jury's still out on that." She winked and offered him the mug. "Bottoms up."

He tentatively took the mug, which was still warm, and drank it like a thirsty man just out of the Sahara. Not a drop went to waste, and he licked the inside as well as his lips, trying to make sure he had gotten every last drop of the liquid.

"Christ, Spike, how long has it been since you fed?" Her brows knit at him in concern.

He stared into the mug, as if willing more blood to appear, and shrugged. "Coupla days. Give or take a few hours."

"Oh, Spike…" She fought back the urge to run her hand through the curls on his head. She was enjoying his brief sanity, no need to spoil the moment.

"I'll be alright. Clem always manages to find me right before I stoop to chasing after the rats in the basement." He gave her a flash of his old cocky grin before his face became an expressionless mask again.

She shuddered at the thought of him having to feed on rats. "You're not going back to the basement, Spike."

"I'm not?"

"No. You're staying here. At least until you get well again." She knelt on the floor in front of him, so they were at the same level and looked deeply into his eyes. "I'm real. I'm here. I'm not leaving or disappearing. We _will_ get through this. No matter how many times you lose your grip on reality, I'll be here to grab your hand and help you get hold of it again. I promise."

He looked at the floor. "I-I can't ask that of you, Buffy." Chills went through her as he said her name, good chills. "Not after what I did…to us…to you…"

She took his hand and held it tightly. "Spike, if I have to beat this into you, I will. You're not asking this of me. This is what I should have done to begin with. Instead of being Anal-Buffy, I should have been there for you as you were for me. I forgot that there was a man in there with the monster. I'm here to help the both of them find balance."

He winced. "I went to get the monster out… get you what-what you deserved… Oh…gods…"

"Spike," she said sharply, catching his attention. "Stay with me. Focus on me."

Dumbly, he nodded, staring at her.

She reached up and tugged playfully on one of his curls, the roots having turned brown over the passing weeks. "I didn't appreciate what I had. If you wig out on me I'll never be able to finish this, so please stay sane so you can hear all of it… You loved me and gave yourself to me without a soul. You let me beat the shit out of you regularly and always came back to me for comfort when I was feeling like that Atlas guy with the world on my shoulders. And I always treated you like garbage. Like you were incapable of love, even though you proved it to me. Then you went and wrecked yourself. Made you go through more pain. Just because I was a bitch and wouldn't accept you as you were." She moved her hand from his curls and placed her palm against the side of his face, which he pressed against, relishing the moment, still not believing what he was hearing. "I'm not saying what I'm not sure whether or not I feel yet, I'm just saying that I won't lose you to yourself. I won't destroy you again by not caring." She took a big breath. "Whoa. Revelation Buffy…"

A tear ran down his cheek and he smiled slightly. "I liked it. You sure know how to make an undead guy feel better."

"Well, I'm not all ready for hugs and puppies yet, but how about this…" She worried her bottom lip with her teeth a bit as he looked questioningly at her. "We need to clean you up. I'm going to run you a bath. I won't look if you don't want, but if you need help, just tell me."

He shot a worried glance at the bathroom and clamped his eyes shut. 

"Spike," she said slowly. "The only way to defeat the monster is to face it. Just keep telling yourself that _we'll_ get through this. Okay? Not _you_, _we_. Okay?"

He nodded falteringly. 

"Good. Now, I'm going to run that bath, and then I'm going downstairs while you get all cleaned up. Dawn said some of your clothes were downstairs."

Again, he nodded.

She went to the door of the bathroom, then turned and looked at him, smiling. "Oh, and Spike?"

He looked at her.

"That night you came over for the first time since you've been back?"

Another nod.  
            "I liked the clothes. You looked good." She smiled bigger. "Real good."

She turned her back to run the water and didn't see the small, hopeful smile on his face, followed by another happy tear.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note:   I'm so happy that you all have enjoyed this story and have reviewed it with your enjoyment, etc. However, just so that I have recourse, should I hear from those ON HIGH…This fic is rated R for a reason. There will be Spuffyness. Much of it. It WILL get out of hand. If you are under the age of 17, I don't want to know about it, k?  I don't want to know that minors could be reading very "adult" content that will be forthcoming in this story… And I'd hate to have to edit that smutty goodness out of the story, because it's integral to the plot. I currently don't have webspace to post the NC-17 versions of my chapters, so there will be a warning before each chapter if the rating should be stronger and if you should skip it. Don't worry. I will make sure that each chapter that follows the previously smutty chapter details whatever was crucial that happened so that those of you who skipped said smut because you're offended by that kind of stuff will know what's going on. Okay? 

Now. That said… on to the "Shower Scene".  In case you couldn't imagine, this is at the very least a STRONG R rating, if not NC-17. Be advised.

Chapter 4 

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            The water droplets cascaded down his back, hot pinpoints of therapy for his cramped muscles. He let them roll over his shoulders, down his neck, over his face… thinking that maybe, just maybe, if he submerged his entire body in water long enough, the voices would drown, and he could be sane for her again. _Well,_ he thought, _as sane as I ever could have been to begin with, at any rate._ He couldn't begin to fathom how Buffy would consider doing what she was now: allowing him into her home again, let alone to _live_ in her bedroom, of all places. How she could tend with such mercy to him, a creature so _beneath_ her… And it didn't matter that she had said that to him time and time again. He knew its truth. Just as he had known it when Cecily had said the same words and sent him spiraling down towards the silky black fingers of Drusilla's gift. And just as Cecily had sent him on a path to destruction, Buffy had sent him on a path to salvation. 

            Both were eating him alive in tandem within his new soul. Tarnished, but functional. And all too real. He rested his forehead against the cool of the ceramic-tiled shower wall, bathing in the contrast that it presented with the steamy heat of the water coursing over his body. It helped to keep his mind off of the images pressing against his mind, memories of the last time he had been in this bathroom. A drop of moisture rolled down his cheek that had nothing to do with the shower's unending supply. The horror of that evening replayed endlessly in his head, as it had since before he had ever reached Africa. Even without a soul, he could feel the pain of betraying Buffy's trust. He could still hear the anguish in her voice, still feel the sting of realization that he had hurt the woman whom he loved with all of his unbeating heart. He couldn't stay. Not because she had demanded his absence, but because he couldn't be near her without feeling enormous guilt for his actions. The thoughts that she had hurt him on countless occasions prior to the event never entered his head since that evening. All of her misdeeds towards him were forgotten. Only his error counted. He was the evil monster that was beneath her. 

            _From beneath you it devours…_

            He had to leave. So he did. And he changed. But why did he come back? Why was he causing her more pain? Why didn't he greet the sunrise the day the voices moved in? _Unwanted squatters, they are,_ he groused silently. _They haven't paid their rent. I should have the locks changed, bloody well should…_

            His quickly deteriorating reverie was disrupted by the soft sound of the bathroom door shutting again. Through the thick steam he could smell her. He could sense her moving softly around the bathroom, doing small things, such as placing clothes on the toilet seat, retrieving a towel from the linen cabinet. He heard her sigh almost imperceptibly, as if she was steeling herself for something. Then he heard clothes falling to the floor…

            He jumped and pressed himself back against the wall of the shower furthest from her entrance. She was completely nude, with her hair tied up loosely, holding a bar of soap and a washcloth. Quickly, he covered his manhood – which had come to prominent salute upon her appearance – with both hands, which left the miniature jets of water to spray into his face, causing him to blink furiously.

            "W-what the bloody hell are you doing, woman?!?" he stuttered, half in a state of shock… the other half thinking what he knew he shouldn't be…

            She caught her bottom lip loosely between her teeth and furrowed her brow. "I… wanted to help."

            "I can certainly bathe myself, thank you. I'm not that far-gone…" he said with a small, self-deprecating smile, still attempting to keep his ill-concealed member out of her line of sight. 

            She looked down, as if she were too embarrassed to meet his gaze. This was certainly a first, he mused to himself. He was too used to Buffy being self-righteous, even when she was so firmly in the wrong. But then again, in his current state of mind, she was never wrong. Never had been, never could be…

            "I can leave if you want… Perhaps I shouldn't have…" she began hesitantly.

            "No…" he took a large, unneeded breath. "You… you can stay if you want…" His gaze joined her towards the floor of the tub they were standing in. 

            They stood there, silently, unheeding of the water that continued streaming over their naked bodies. The tension between them heightened with each second.

            "Why?" he finally whispered.

            She raised her eyebrows and looked into his face. "Beg pardon?"

            "Why this? Why all of this? Why…" he gestured, "are you here, naked, when I so obviously can't keep my hands off you. You know this…" His voice trailed off in a choked sob. "Oh, gods, no…" He covered his face with his hands. "No… don't let me hurt the girl. Not again… Hasn't she been through enough???" This last was screamed at the ceiling, through a mouthful of shower water that he ignored.

            "Shhh," she soothed, raising her hands to stroke his arms, above the elbows, and over his shoulders. Gently, she pulled him away from the corner of the shower stall, into her arms, stroking his back with her fingers while murmuring soft words of comfort in his ear. He whimpered gently into hers as she continued her nurturing. Slowly, she pulled her face back just far enough so that she could look into his eyes. "I came in here to help, Spike." She looked around behind her. "And damn if I didn't drop the soap…" She blushed furiously and started laughing. He looked confused, then thought for a moment and started chuckling as well. 

            "I promise to behave if you wish to pick it up," he offered.

            She winked. "Such a gentleman." Quickly, she pivoted, picked up the errant soap and washcloth and turned to face him once more, armed with her instruments of cleaning. "Now, hold still."

            "If I don't I may bloody well fall out," he muttered.

            Slowly, she rubbed the soap over the washcloth, causing suds to form, before rubbing the washcloth firmly but gently over his alabaster skin. She traced the cloth over his shoulders, down his collarbone, rubbing soft circular patterns on each of his nipples till they were fully hardened, then traced it under his arms, unconsciously lacing her fingers with his as she ran the washrag over his abdomen. He gritted his teeth and hissed in air as he felt her run the rough, wet cloth over the curve of his hips, down his thighs, over his knees. She knelt down to gently scrub his feet, then ran the cloth in slow circular patterns up the inside of his legs. She managed to avoid his now-prominently saluting member as she reached behind him to scrub his back, therefore winding up with her breasts pressed against his chest, her own nipples hardening as he placed his hands on her shoulders lightly to steady himself. She stiffened slightly, and for a moment he thought he'd made a mistake and attempted to remove his hands, but she kept her chest pressed against his, even as she reached between them with both hands and ran the cloth softly, slowly over the length of his most sensitive area.

            He bucked his hips at the contact and almost collapsed, his eyes rolling back in his head as he tried to contain a moan. With determination and resolve, she continued with her actions, proceeding to run the cloth between his legs and over his sack, then to the skin directly behind it, causing a guttural sound to emerge from between his lips. Her eyes widened suddenly as he pulled her flush against him, every inch of the front of their bodies touching, causing her to drop the soap and washcloth again. 

            "Buffy," he breathed, tracing a finger down the side of her face, lovingly…reverently. In his eyes was a spark of complete lucidity, surpassed only by the lust that was so evident in other parts of him. His entire body was trembling against hers, strained from the restraint he was enforcing upon himself.

            Slowly, she brought a hand up to caress his cheek. "Spike," she sighed. She placed her hand behind his head, lacing her fingers through the damp curls and pulled his face towards hers. Tentatively, she brushed her lips against his, almost chastely, as if testing the proverbial waters. At his moan of pleasure in response to the contact, she pressed her lips closer against his, parting them slightly, her tongue probing lightly for access. Gladly, he granted it, and their tongues became locked in a dueling caress. His hesitation lasted only a moment as he wrapped his arms around her waist and tilted his head to deepen the kiss. She moaned quietly into his mouth as he continued his assault on her senses… an attack that was more than reciprocated as far as she was concerned, focusing on tracing her fingers over the muscles in his back.

            He reached up and tangled a hand in her hair as he gently drew her bottom lip into his mouth and sucked lightly on it, nibbling a bit on it before returning to his earlier probing of her mouth with his tongue. The passion stoked between them as they retraced old territory, exploring necks, shoulders, ears, jawlines, mouths, tongues, lips, teeth, finally parting as they both came away panting – she out of necessity, he out of habit. The embers smoldering in his eyes she knew mirrored her own, and she only took the briefest of moments before wrapping her arms around his neck and joining their lips together once more. Kissing Spike was always one of her best memories. Every time they kissed, she felt alive. It was almost as crucial to her existence as breathing. Whereas before she had denied it out of shame, now she relished it and desired it. 

            She turned and pulled them half out of the stream of water, pressing her back up against the wall of the shower. She pulled him tightly against her, and he braced himself with one arm against the wall next to her head as he continued pressing kisses to her mouth, throat, and shoulders. She sighed contentedly as, product of habit, he smoothly drew one of her hardened nipples into his mouth, catching the very tip between his teeth for a moment, flicking his tongue against it, then lowering his mouth to catch more of her breast and suck firmly. She moaned loudly and arched her back so that she was pressing her breasts as firmly against his mouth as she could, gasping as he reached up with his other hand to tweak the other nipple. She ran her hands through his hair, moaning inarticulately as he continued his attentions.

            His hands began to roam along the length of her body, caressing her waist, her hips, the front of her thighs. She parted her legs slightly and moaned; begging him to touch her there, caress her there. Deftly, he avoided it, however, not teasingly, but almost as if he was afraid of touching her there. She moved her hips so that she followed his hand, trying to guide his hand to her intimate places, but he pulled back as if burned.

            "W-what…no…can't…mustn't…hurt the girl…" he moaned, pulling back to the point that he almost toppled backwards through the shower curtain. He looked truly terrified that he was in this situation.

            "Spike…" She pulled him back to her, and guided his head so that he was looking back at her. "I need you. You need me. Please… Don't stop. I won't leave, you can't hurt me…"

            "But, it's…it's _wrong_," he wept.

            "No, Spike," she smiled, tenderly planting kisses at the hollow of his throat. "It's finally so _right_…" She swiftly captured his mouth with another searing kiss, pushing the voices and guilt as far away from his mind as she could. All he managed to think about during the kiss was the feel of her beneath his body, beneath his hands as he hesitantly began to explore again. This time, however, she took hold of his hand, breaking the kiss momentarily to draw his finger into her mouth, sucking softly. His eyes just about fell out of his head from widening so much, he felt he would burst from the sensations she was creating. Then, she moved his hand down her body, over her flat stomach, between her legs. Cautiously, he probed her slit with his middle finger as his thumb found her clit and massaged slowly. As he pushed first one, then two fingers into her, she squeezed her muscles around them, and the heat of her inner folds scalded him. Biting his lower lip to keep from screaming, he pumped his hand against her, pleasing her, eliciting groans from her. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt her wrap her slender hands around his manhood, squeezing gently, before pumping him as well. She stroked him expertly, rubbing her thumb on the sensitive flesh just below the head on the underside of his shaft. 

            He couldn't believe her actions… In all the times they had been together, she had never pleasured him while he had been pleasuring her. She'd never touched him there before, save for the first time they'd been together and she'd touched him to guide him into her. Now, however, she was sharing her pleasure with him. And he got the feeling that he was the only person she'd ever stroked this intimately before. Oh, she'd had sex, perhaps even called it making love. But Buffy had never given a hand job, possibly not even a blowjob, either. 

            He trembled beneath her touch, gyrating his hips so that he was pumping into her hand. After a couple of minutes, he felt her body tense, just as his own was starting to, and she opened her eyes, looking at him through thick lashes. 

            "Spike," she moaned. "Please, let me show you how much I should have shown you to begin with…"

            He looked at her, confused as to her meaning, then felt her pull him closer to her, wrapping her leg over one of his hips. Never breaking eye-contact, she guided him to her entrance. He looked at her in fear, afraid of over-stepping his bounds, but one squeeze of her hand on his ass and his doubts dissolved. He leaned over and captured her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue against hers at the same moment that he filled her to the core, every inch of him stretching her, filling her. She moaned against his lips, shuddering with her first orgasm, having come right when he entered her. He lifted her hips and wrapped her legs around him, pressing her against the wall of the shower. Slowly, at first, he pushed into her deeply, pulled out all the way and pushed back in, causing her to moisten even more. Her heat burned him, and he delighted in it as he picked up the tempo, yet kept the tenderness. 

            As he pumped into her, he buried his face in her neck, without vamping out, just placing kisses along her jaw, collarbone, hollow between her neck and shoulder, and licking the drops of sweat that began to form there. He moaned her name repeatedly in her ear, and almost lost whatever sanity he had left when he heard her sighing his name in return. He pulled back and looked into her eyes. The true shock hit him then: Buffy had never looked into his eyes during sex. She had considered it a grounding intimacy that she'd rather avoid. Her eyes were wide open and she stared right back into his eyes, never breaking the gaze. He filled her, stretched her, and she flexed her inner walls to stroke him, squeeze him, till they both were panting from their exertions. He felt himself close to release, and stroked the side of her face as he pressed his forehead to hers, never breaking the pressure or speed of his thrusts. 

            "Buffy," he moaned. "Come with me. Please…"

            She nodded and kissed him deeply, squeezing hard around him as she felt him stroke her to a second release. As she felt him thrust into her, bringing his release, she clenched around him, and together they fell over the edge, screaming each other's name…

            He buried his face in the hollow of her neck, sucking gently, nibbling, kissing up her jaw line… Finally he looked into her eyes and she stroked his face, looking back at him through hooded lids. She continued clenching around him as he slowly lost hardness within her, but he made no move to withdraw. They embraced and allowed the water to cascade over his shoulders and down her chest. 

            After a few moments, when she lowered her legs to stretch, Buffy looked into Spike's eyes,  kissed him lightly on the lips and smiled. 

            "So…Breakfast?"

REVIEWS! 


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note:  ** Okay. Today is SOOOO much better now that I come home from work and find that less than 12 hours after I posted part 4 I already have 7 reviews for that chapter! YAY! MORE MORE MORE! I am so greedy when it comes to feedback. ;)  

Also, to the beautiful moderator of B/S Central:  I will post the story to your site as soon as it is completed. Shouldn't be too long. And yes, the story will be NC-17, featuring Spike in all his naked, manly glory. Giggles I know. I need a life…

So many of you e-mailed me privately to review instead of posting to the site, that's cool too. Very awesome. A couple of you had a few speculations as to what the last chapter was, although you did tell me how much you liked the Spuffyness. Well, this chapter should clear that up real quick. For those of you who skipped Chapter Four, let's just say that Buffy gave Spike a bath in the shower (huh?), followed by a "massage". ;)  A very steamy massage…. Bwah ha ha. Then she offered him breakfast.  This chapter will be short. Only because I'm fast approaching the writer's block. L

Chapter 5 

_Roamin' through this darkness_

_I'm alive but I'm alone…_

_Part of me is fighting this,_

But part of me is gone… 

            He stepped out of the shower, weak-kneed and glistening underneath mixed beads of sweat and water. Reaching for a towel, he looked over in Buffy's direction and saw her shaking the water from her hair, still standing in front of him in proud nakedness. She reached for a towel of her own to drag across the sweat of her own body, never taking her eyes from his. He looked back at her with every bit of love that he had ever felt for her. She looked down for the briefest of seconds as she took a step towards him.

            "Spike, there's something I have to tell you…" she began slowly, then stopping hesitantly.

            He reached out to stroke her cheek and she held onto his hand with her own. "What is it, pet?"

            "I… Spike…" she took a deep breath and stared directly into his eyes, tenderness in her gaze. "Spike, I love…"

            _Knock, knock, knock!_

            The rapping at the bathroom door jarred her to silence and he looked towards the door impatiently. "Yes? What in bloody hell is it?"

            "Geeze…testy much?" came Buffy's voice from the other side of the door.

            Wait… _Buffy's_ voice…? Spike whirled to face the woman he had just been about to hear a confessional from and found that his hand grasped at air. She had never even been there. 

            "Spike? I was just coming up to give you your clothes… Unless you want to stay wet and naked for the rest of the day…" Buffy's voice ended the sentence on a lilt, bringing in her own version of humor, where Spike felt none…

            He stood there, mouth agape, staring at the place where "Buffy" had been, then his gaze darted to the shower. Then to the sink. He blinked in realization, for on the sink were the washrag and soap. 

            As the full impact of what had just happened hit him, he felt his knees give way and he curled up in the far corner of the bathroom, his body racked with sobs. _Just a hallucination. Just a dream… None of it real… William's been a naughty boy… _

            And he cried. Oh, did he cry… for all that he had lost, all that he had thought he'd found again, only to have it ripped from him by the cruel grip of reality…

            "No! Nonononono… bad William. Naughty boy. Cracked the chalkboard, ate the chalk. Bad, BAD, naughty William… Nothin' but hurt there. You don't have a pass; you'll be beaten now. I'll be beaten for sure…"

            She heard his terrified ramblings through the bathroom door and her stomach twisted in anxiety. "Oh, my god. Spike… Hang on, I'm coming…" She didn't want to frighten him, but she didn't have any other way to enter the bathroom since he'd locked the door. She kicked it in.

            The steam rushed out the door behind her, clearing a hazy path in the air for her to see Spike curled up in a fetal ball against the back wall of the bathroom, cradling the washrag and soap. Tears streamed down his face as he stroked his cheek with the washcloth. The look in his eyes was far away and wistful. He was still completely nude, having abandoned the towel in his haste to reach the wall. She bent down slowly to pick it up, attempting to keep from staring at what was so obviously exposed. She stole a glance to the shower and noticed something on the wall. Stepping closer, she squinted to see what it was. There was a musky scent in the air that she recognized all too well, and then it hit her what it was on the wall…

            "EW!" She covered her mouth with one hand and looked to the still-huddled Spike, who apparently had taken all too obvious notice of her "ew", his sobs having come more frequently and with more force. She kicked herself mentally. _Way to be Supportive-Buffy…_

            She dropped to the floor and crawled through the patches of water to his side, reaching out to him. "Spike…"

            "NO!" He flinched from her touch and withdrew further into himself, if that was achievable. "No touching! Just flesh! Serviced the girl, loved the girl…but the girl wasn't real! It all comes tumbling down, y'see. I'm here without special permission. Headmaster'll whip me for sure, this time…" He obscured his face with the washcloth.

            "Spike. I'm real. I'm sorry… I'm so sorry… I don't know what happened…" Buffy swallowed the awkwardness she felt at knowing that Spike had been masturbating to "her", trying to focus on bringing him out of this lack of sanity.

            "No, not real. You said that last time. Disappeared, you did. You lied. Said you wouldn't leave. They all leave. Then they come back, then they leave… then _I_ leave, and don't come back…" He absentmindedly played with the washrag in his hands, wringing it of imaginary water as he babbled on.

            "Spike, I know what you saw…what you _felt_ seemed real. I'm…" she swallowed, ascertaining whether her feelings were accurate, "_sorry_ that it wasn't real. For your sake. I am truly sorry. The last thing I want to see is you hurting. Do you understand?" She rubbed his arm slowly, comfortingly, not knowing that "she" had done that before.

            Spike looked at her with liquid blue eyes, before curling up and crying against her, pouring out word for word all that had transpired moments before. Buffy listened, trying hard to fight both the impulse to run and to act on his fantasy. She was torn. She finally settled on gathering him up against her bosom, cradling in her arms in a motherly embrace. As she rocked him, and he neared the end of his tortuous story, she took the washrag and wiped the tears from his face. Gently, she wiped the moisture from his hair. Placing a kiss on his temple, she whispered five words that made him sigh with longing:

            "We'll get through this, Spike…"

REVIEW, PLEASE!

That's the only way I get ideas when I'm stumped. Just remember, it's not really a contest, but I am stumped right now as to how to move the story along. If I get an idea that I like, I'll use it and give you credit for it. ;)  Also, it just makes my ego bigger knowing you're enjoying the story… Cheers!

This chapter was torture to write though, since I have a particular soft spot in my heart for Spike. Hell, if Buffy doesn't want him naked on the bathroom floor, I'll gladly have him! ::big grinz::


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note:   Sorry it's taken so long for this to come out of the works, but attribute it to writer's block, the crappiest ending to a Spike-oriented "Buffy" episode that I've seen to DATE… /rant, fanfiction.net going down, and me being incredibly sick. However, I lost my job today, so I should have a lot more time to write the story now. Don't worry, there is an actual storyline, and since not even I know fully where it's going to go, you shall be very surprised at the twists and turns, I guarantee. Note to you all: Angst. This is an ANGST story. So no complaints about said angst, k?  Technically, I don't HAVE to make them have blissful smoochies at the end, specially since my life sucks a mean one right now, but I will. Just because I love Spike so much and he deserves to have a good boink at the end of the day. 

Oh, by the way, there are two ways to cheer me up in this time of dire straits: 1.) Gift-wrap James Marsters and deliver him to me in nothing but a purple bow and whipped cream. Or 2.) Feedback. 

Personally, I prefer #1, but in lieu of that, #2 is always appreciated. Wistful sigh

Warning: Spoilers for "Selfless"…and the dialogue is slightly altered. giggle

Chapter 6 

            Spike sat outside, smoking a Marlboro, the events of the day still haunting him. Feeling Buffy so close, around him so tightly, only to find that it had all been a fantasy. An illusion. She had done her best, he knew, to help him through the realization. She wasn't a rocket scientist, but he gave the girl credit for putting the whole scene together and figuring it out. He took another drag off of his cigarette, inhaling the smoke deeply. 

            _Gods, so close to her, and yet so far away._ He could practically taste her every time she came near, yet was forbidden to do so, both by an unspoken understanding between them and his own fears. Things had changed between them. No matter what he did, he could never unmake his mistakes. That was his cross to bear. He snorted for a moment at the irony of that thought and took another drag.

            Looking down into his lap, Spike examined the words written in soft, looping handwriting. Buffy, gods bless her, had provided him with a blank notebook. A journal really, but something to write his poetry in. _Poetry_, of all things. Somehow she remembered that William was remembered for his Bloody awful poetry. With trembling fingers he raised the cigarette to his lips and inhaled. It was nearing midnight and he had been writing for four hours. Buffy had been out to check on him, but he hadn't ever allowed her to see what he had been writing, and she didn't pressure him. She just ventured outside to visit him to assure him that she was still there for him. He appreciated the sentiment. He didn't know what he would do without her.

            _Cor, _he lamented silently, _probably still be shacked up by your crazy self in the basement having twice as many delusions. At least now you've got momentary lapses into sanity, for gods' sakes…_

            He looked down again at the small book and laid the pen down. It was finished. For the first time he knew what true fear was, as he contemplated giving the completed poem to her. That frightened him more than the being down in the basement of the Sunnydale High School. She could scorn him. It could make the gap between them wider. Or, it might make her understand him…

            He shook his head again, mocking himself, as he took another drag off the cigarette, extinguishing it and flicking it out into the yard. Recalling the events of the day, he saw himself as nothing so much as an irreversible idiot. After Buffy had managed to get him up and get him dressed, he had spent the rest of the day huddled on his air-cot in her bedroom. She had brought him blood and sat next to him, talking to him about mundane, everyday things. Finally, she had brought him up a pack of cigarettes and his leather duster. At first, he remembered, he had panicked. Those things reminded him of what he had been striving to abandon from his character. Buffy, on the other hand, seemed to believe that they were valid parts of him, not to be so lightly abandoned. She had escorted him downstairs, after dusk and after applying a light amount of gel in his hair for him, and had sat out on the front porch with him while he smoked his first cigarette in a great many months. Dawn had come back from after-school socializing with her buds and had deposited a bottle of black nail polish with them before silently going upstairs. 

            As she had continued conversation with him, Buffy had meticulously applied the black nail polish to each of his fingernails, blowing them dry. The proximity of his fingers to her puckered lips had almost driven him over the edge again…No. He wouldn't go there. He needed to prove to Buffy that she could trust him. That he could remain sane for her. Already, since she had begun her ministrations, the accusing voices had lowered in volume. Still there, they were no longer the overwhelming chorus that had impeded his sanity. 

            He sensed her before she had stepped foot across the porch. "Spike?"

            He looked over his shoulder with a small smile. "W'sup, luv?" 

            She held out one of two mugs she had in hand. He accepted it and saw that it was filled with blood. He peered into hers and saw that she had prepared hot chocolate. It was, however, missing the little marshmallows he liked so much.

            Noticing his scrutiny, she withdrew a small bag of marshmallows from her back pocket. "Looking for these?" At his raised eyebrow, she sat down – shoulder-to-shoulder – with him and smiled. "I know it's kind of "ewww", but I thought you might like marshmallows in yours, since I so obviously am going to have some in mine." And she flashed him a grin before scooping a handful of the confections into her mug and passing the bag to him.

            He contemplated it for a moment, before saying, "Oh, bloody hell, why not?" And into the mug went the marshmallows.

            Moments passed, the sound of the crickets chirping and Buffy's breathing the only audible companions to the night. Wishing for anything to occupy his thoughts and keep him from spiraling into insanity once more, Spike withdrew another cigarette in the pack and lit it, realizing just how much his habit had been missed. He took a few puffs, lazily blowing the smoke out, forcing himself to remain calm in her presence. "So, what's up, Buffy?"

            She smiled softly and gazed up at the stars for a moment. "It still feels a little weird, hearing you say my name… well, when we're not horizontal and…" she looked at him. "Shutting up now…Anyway, I'm so used to you calling me Slayer, luv, pet, and all your other names for me…"            

            He looked intently at the cherry of his cigarette. "I don't deserve to call you those anymore," he replied softly. "Truth be told, I never did."

            She looked at him blankly for a moment before sighing in frustration and swiping his cigarette from him. Without a word, she put it to her lips and, like a seasoned pro, inhaled as much smoke as her lungs would hold. Between her thinned lips, she blew out an immaculate smoke ring before letting the rest of it out. Spike just watched in awe.

            "When did you start smoking?" he asked her, slightly concerned.

            She looked at him with something in her expression bordering guilt. "I…I don't smoke _regularly_…" She toyed with the cigarette between her fingers before puffing from it again, blowing the smoke out before continuing. "I missed it. The smell. I know I always said I hated it, but… When you left, you took all those familiar scents with you. Your leather, alcohol, hair gel, and cigarette smell." She met his eyes and rolled them for his benefit. "Well, I couldn't exactly ask Xander to take up smoking just so I could get my Spike-smell fix, especially if he knew the reason behind my asking him to…" Her voice trailed off again and she handed the cigarette back to him. "So, occasionally, I would take one from the pack in your coat and sit out here and pretend it was you smoking it."

            He stared intently at the cigarette, admiring the lipstick marks left on the filter, afraid to touch it to his lips and sully the sanctity she had placed upon the damned thing.  "I-I don't know what to say…"

            She scooted closer to him by an inch and, looking up at the stars, placed her hand over the hand he had laid on the porch step. She squeezed it gently and smiled, still staring at the shining midnight sky. "Don't say anything, Spike," she murmured. "Just be here."

            Together, they sat there until it was nearly dawn, staring at the last stars as they disappeared from the sky. Their mugs sat cold beside them, long forgotten, and their hands remained joined atop the wooden porch. More was said between them that evening in their silence that words could never hope to touch.

            The sun's rays shone through the slats in the closed blinds while a sleeping Spike remained upstairs in Buffy's room, catching up on his sleep. Buffy had come home from a morning shift at the Doublemeat Palace, not having to play Counselor Buffy until the next day, and was warming blood in a mug for the vampire upstairs when the front door slammed open and closed. A panicked Willow ran to the stairs, then to the kitchen entrance as she saw Buffy. She looked as pale as death and was panting almost uncontrollably. 

            "Buffy," she gasped. "There's trouble."

            The mug forgotten momentarily, Buffy turned to her friend. "Calm down, Will… What kind of trouble?"

            Willow's face darkened, a glimmer of black streaking across her green eyes before she caught herself. "Anya trouble."

TBC  

(Don't worry, part 7's already underway…still, feedback is great.)


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's Note:   **sigh This is becoming a habit, I know. However, I thought I might put this up just to clear aside any confusion. A few of you have e-mailed me privately to ask me to post my fic to your sites. While I'm immensely flattered, I don't know how I can juggle writing and uploading to fanfiction.net at the same time as upload to each individual site. frown unfortunately, I may have a wonder-bra, but that does not a Wonder Woman make. What I'm trying to say is, PLEASE, by all means post this fiction to your site. Just keep the disclaimer attached so Joss doesn't get a hankerin' out to kill lil' ol' me… (That's the Okie in me, now.)  Also, you can delete all the author's notes when you put the fic up, just make sure the rating stays as intended by me. ;-) Namely, NC-17, babes… And please link my name to it with my e-mail address… Either KellazDesire@aol.com or KellaWytch@aol.com will do. Eventually, I'd like to be selfish and greedy and send this out to garner/gather/raise its hand for awards and stuff of that nature, but I'm swamped by RL. So I'll just sit back and let you guys knock yerselves out. 

Chapter 7 

            When Spike came downstairs, it was only to dodge the sunshine that poured through the door as Buffy and Xander stepped through it, into the house. Looking apologetically at Spike, Buffy quickly shut the door. When he had stepped back into the entryway fully, Spike noticed the deep scratches on Buffy's bare shoulders and had to fight not to reach forward and comfort her. Instead he met her gaze.

            "Are you all right?" His voice was thick with concern.

            "Yeah, almost got my heart ripped out by some spidery-demon thing, but I gave it the axe."

            Xander winced, throwing said axe to the floor. "Don't remind me. I'm _still_ getting rid of the spidery-non-goodness out of my clothes…"

            Willow had been sitting in the armchair facing the couch, waiting for their return. Silently, she watched the exchange, darting a quick gaze to Spike. She almost looked as if she wished she could share some invisible burden with him, but couldn't find it within her to ask that of him. Compelled, he went over and sat on his haunches next to her chair, while Buffy and Xander went to sit on the couch, detailing their gooey experience. Spike followed the bits and pieces of the story in confusion, at first, slowly putting it together. Buffy seemed haunted, though. As if she _knew_ who had been behind the raising of the spider-demon… 

            "It was Anya," Willow abruptly interrupted, her gaze glued to the coffee table, not meeting Xander's shock.

            "What?!?" he exploded. "You…You know it's her? How?"

            "T-the girl at the frat house, she made a wish. Anya granted that wish." Willow proceeded to detail the scene outside the fraternity house and the blood on Anya's wrist as the vengeance demon had made her hasty exit. 

            Xander sat on the edge of the couch and peered at Willow in accusation. "You could have told us this _earlier_ you know… Why not let us all know? Why not," he pleaded, "let _me_ know?"

            Spike was silent. He had drawn the same conclusion as Willow and Buffy, before the Slayer had even voiced the words.

            With regret in her voice, Buffy voiced the words slowly and solemnly. "She didn't tell us because she knows what I have to do." She looked over to a nervous Xander. "I have to kill Anya." 

            "What?!?" Again, Xander's exclamation was made as an explosion, coupled this time with him shooting off the couch and retreating a few paces to stare at Buffy. "No! No killing! This is _Anya_ we're talking about, Buffy!"

            Buffy slowly shook her head, trying to make him understand. "She's not the Anya that you knew, Xander. She's a demon."

            "That doesn't mean you have to kill her!" came the protest.

            Spike felt sorry for Xander for a moment. But only a moment. He still didn't like the boy. But he had to admit that if the positions were reversed and he and Buffy were in Xander's and Anya's places, he'd be fighting like hell.

            Buffy, in indignation, shot off the couch. "Don't act like this is easy for me. You know it's not."

            "There are other options!"

            "I've considered them…"

            Xander curled a lip at her and copped a stance, gesturing desperately. "When? Just now? Took you all of ten seconds to decide to kill one of your best friends?"

            Buffy spread her hands in supplication, not backing down. "The thought that it might come to this has occurred to me before. It's occurred to you, too." This last was said in a pleading tone.

            Xander shook his head and paced. Angrily, he stabbed a finger in Spike's direction. "Don't just sit there, say something! Tell her this is the wrong thing to do!"

            Spike just sat there and shook his head. "I'd like to agree with you, Harris. Unfortunately, if I were to suddenly up 'n massacre a sorority, I'd expect it fully for Buffy to come at me with an arsenal 'f pointy objects."

            "B-but," Xander sputtered, "you're a demon, soul or no soul…"

            Spike stood and faced him eye-to-eye. "So's Anya, Mate."

            "Xander," Buffy interrupted, bringing Xander's focus back on her strained features, "I know this is hard for you to hear, but it's what I have to do."

            "Hard for me to hear? Buffy, you wanna kill Anya!"

            "I don't **_want_** to!"

            "Then **_don't_**!" Xander retorted. He held out his hands, pleading his case. "This isn't new ground for us. When our friends go all crazy and start killing people, we help them."

            Willow straightened in her chair, shooting an uncomfortable glare at Xander. "Sitting right here!"

            Spike lowered back down onto his haunches, gave Willow a look that was meant for comfort and returned his gaze to the quarreling friends.

            "I'm sorry. But it's true," Xander was saying.

            "It's different," Buffy murmured.

            "Because you don't care about her the same way I do." Xander swallowed hard and they could all see the pain in his eyes. "Buffy, I still love her."

            "I know. And that's why you can't see this for what it really is. Willow was different. She's a human. Anya's a demon."

            "And you're the Slayer. I see now how it's all very simple." Xander's lip had resumed its sneer. 

            Spike wanted to knock it off. Damn the chip. And the soul. Damn them both.

            Buffy vehemently shook her head. "It is _never_ simple."

            Xander stabbed a finger in Spike's direction again, only this time his words were directed at Buffy. "No, of course not. You know, if there's a mass-murdering demon that you're, oh, say, **_boning_**, then it's all gray area."

            Spike shot to his feet, glaring balefully at Xander. "Oi! Standing right _here_!"

            Xander just glared back at him as Willow reached up and patted Spike's wrist, silently tugging him back to his place next to her.

            "Spike was harmless! He was helping!" Buffy insisted.

            Spike winced. He knew she was defending him, but whatever part of him that might have swelled at that cringed even more by being referred to as "harmless". 

            "He had no choice!"

            "And Anya did! She **_chose_** to become a demon. Twice!"

            "You have no idea what she's going through."

            Buffy shook her head, crossing her arms across her chest. "I don't care what she's going through!"

            Xander shouted at her, angrier now than Spike had ever remembered seeing him at Buffy. "No, of course not. You think we haven't seen all this before? The part where you just cut us all out. Just step away from everything human and act like you're the law. If you knew what I felt—"

            "I killed Angel!"

            Buffy's outburst was filled with pain and years of failed burial of that deed. It still haunted her and Spike, as much as he winced at the mention of Angel's name, winced more at the knowledge that Buffy had had to send the love of her young life to Hell. His grandsire would always come first. Spike could never have hoped to follow behind that act.

            The proclamation was enough to halt Xander in his tracks and Buffy painfully continued, grinding every word out to him as a slap in the face. "Do you even remember that? I would have given up everything I had to be with— I loved him more than I thought I could ever love _anything_ again in this _life_. And I put a sword through his heart because I had to."

            Spike's eyes misted slightly as he remembered their uneasy truce and how he had helped her to defeat Angelus, therefore bringing her the occasion to have killed him and cause herself pain. The dimmed voices in the back of his head surged forward enough, _just_ enough, to blame that on him.

            He dimly heard Willow meekly say, "And that all worked out okay."

            Buffy ignored her. "Do you remember cheering me on? Both of you! Do you remember giving me Willow's message — "Kick his ass"?"

            Willow shot her fiery gaze to Xander in horror, remembering her actual words in sending Xander to assure Buffy had given time to allow the returning of Angel's soul. "I never said that…"

            Xander waved the accusations aside, justifying it with, "This is different…"

            "It is always different!" Buffy said firmly. "It's always complicated. And at some point, someone has to draw the line, and that is always going to be me! You get down on me for cutting myself off, but in the end the Slayer is always cut off. There's no mystical guidebook, no all-knowing council. Human rules don't apply! There's only me. I am the law."

            Spike felt his unbeating heart reach out to her as her face threatened to crumple in tears.

            "There has to be another way," Xander insisted softly.

            Buffy met his gaze with determination, beseeching at the same time. "Then please find it."   
            With that, she stormed past him and rushed upstairs to her bedroom. 

            As Xander sank to the couch, head in his hands, Willow became fascinated with the hem of her shirt.

            Torn on what to do, Spike finally rose and slowly climbed the stairs to follow Buffy.

            Knocking on the door, Spike heard a muffled "come in", and gently opened the door. "Buffy?"

            He heard _sniff_s and saw Buffy dabbing at her eyes with the hem of her black tank top, recently removed. His unneeded breath caught in his throat as much over the fact that she was now shirtless as the sight of the myriad red streaks over her shoulders and neck. "Cor, Buffy," he whispered. "Let's get those fixed up, please?" He met her eyes, afraid to touch her. He slowly closed the distance between them while she remained seated on the edge of her bed. "You gonna be all right?"

            She stared intently at her shirt in silence for a moment before shaking her head falteringly. She met his eyes. "Thank you…"

            He blinked. "For what?"

            "For backing me up, down there, when things got ugly. For understanding why I have to do this."

            He gazed into her eyes, willing her to understand him fully. "Buffy, luv, I don't want you to have to do this anymore than your boy Harris down there does. Diff'rence is, I know why you have to do this. I know if it were me, you'd…"

            "Would I?" she interrupted softly.

            He froze. "Would you what?"

            "Would I kill you? Or, whatever you do to vampires to make them deader than usual…" She wiped at her cheek with the hem of her shirt. "Would I be able to?"

            Spike sighed and set his jaw in resolve, removing the shirt from her hands and taking one in each of his own. "Buffy, look at me." She did. "I know that we both realize that things have changed with me. I'm no longer what I was. But both before the soul, and _now_, if I were _ever_ to so much as bite _one_ person, I would have expected that you come after me then with all the armaments at your disposal. Same today. Don't _ever_ back down from what you have to do. Not even for me. You need to do it because… you were right: When it all boils down, you _are_ the law, luv. And no allowances can be made for those that share pieces of your life, because that's just invitin' chaos." He snorted and ran a hand haphazardly through his blonde curls. "'Ere I am, fine one to lecture on chaos… I 'ave a hard enough time keepin' me own ducks in a row…"

            She reached up and playfully tugged on one his errant curls. "Well," she sniffed, "thanks for taking time out of your busy schedule to help me keep an eye on mine." She winked at him before frowning. "I really don't want to have to do this tonight. Or on _any_ night."

            He got a wicked gleam in his eye, trying to distract her momentarily. "Not even when you saw her 'n me…"

            She glowered for a moment before thinking about it. "No, not even then. I didn't even want to hurt _you_… I blamed that on me." She shook her head free of those thoughts for the moment. "But, she means a lot to Xander, and she means a lot to me, and… I just don't know how I can do this, no matter how tough I sounded downstairs."

            Spike gripped her hands again, firmly. "Slayer."

            She looked up at him, hearing her title from his lips for the first time in what seemed like forever. 

            "Don't," he continued huskily, "_ever_ doubt yourself. Your strength that you find within yourself is your greatest asset. Don't ever second-guess yourself. That will only lead to error and cause you to slip up and…" He blinked back a tear. "I don't know how many more towers I can have us both falling or leaping off of." He curved a part of his mouth upward to try to mask the pain in that statement.

            She saw straight through it. Leaning into his shoulder, she rested her head in the crook between his shoulder and his neck. "Thank you," she whispered. "I know I'm supposed to be strong for you, since you need it, but…"

            "Shh…" he comforted, afraid to touch her, or comfort her, even though she was leaning against him like that. "Jus' returning th' favor, luv." His accent became more abbreviated as the huskiness from the emotions in his voice grew. "Jus' returnin' th' favor…"

TBC  :-P


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's Note:  **Feedback/reviews/happy-Kella-making stuff. ;)

Chapter 8 

            It was growing darker outside, and closer to the time that Buffy would be departing the house to go after Anya. Spike shook his head slowly and went downstairs for a cup of blood. This was hard on everyone, but especially on Buffy. So many of her friends had died or …hurt her. And now she had to go and dispatch one of the Scoobies herself. He didn't have any idea how to help her…

            "You can't."

            Turning, Spike almost fell backwards as he saw _himself_. And he was _smiling_ in a most perverse fashion. "Wh-what?"

            Casually, pseudo-Spike picked up a fork from the kitchen counter and toyed it idly between his fingers. "You're not supposed to help her. You know it's not part of the plan…" He fashioned an imitation of Spike's trademark smirk for a moment, then it grew impossibly wide and his face inverted, swallowing the rest of the apparition into thin air.

            His knees shaking, Spike just stood there for a moment. Finally, he managed, "O-okay… definitely a Hellmouth we're sitting on…" He did his best to divert his full attention to the warming mug of blood in the microwave.

            As he pulled it out a few minutes later and began to sip it gingerly, he heard Xander stomp through the house from talking to Willow in the back room. 

            "Xander, wait!" the witch called after him, but he was already gone. The door hung open in his wake, and Willow slowly walked up to close it. Her shoulders shook for a moment as he watched her give in to the tears she'd obviously been fighting all afternoon. Quickly, however, she straightened and walked determinedly into the kitchen, joining him. "So," she started the conversation with faux cheer, "dinner time, rare-style?"

            He tilted a corner of his mouth up at her, hoping it didn't waver as he still battled the memory of his encounter with "himself", and said, "Bloody rare, Red. Got that right."

            "Oh." Eyebrows raised, Willow-style, she took a seat at the counter island in the kitchen. Idly, she traced patterns in the tile of the countertop.

            Resting a hand on the counter opposite her, he smiled. "Want me to make you something to eat?"

            "I-I think you and I are on separate diets, there, Spike…" Willow joked. "My hemoglobin's up to specs, but thanks for asking and all."

            He chuckled softly and shook his head. "C'mon, Red. I do occasionally partake of human cuisine." He flashed her a grin and a wink. "And I'm a hell of a cook." 

            She casually waved a hand, calling up her "Cordelia 'tude" memories. "Oh, sure. Why not? Anything kosher will do, Chef."

            Spike raised an eyebrow at her as he headed to the fridge. "You know, Red, you are the oddest bird… 'as a  bloke ever told you that?"

            She snorted lightly to stifle a very un-adult-like giggle. "You, more than a few times." She straightened in mock seriousness. "But, I can be a Jewish Witch… Or a Wiccan Jew… or…" Her brow knit in confusion.

            He shook his head as he rifled through the crisper. "Don't think. You'll hurt yourself."

            She stuck her tongue out at his back before a wicked smile crept onto her face. "You know, you have a _soul_ now. So, doesn't that mean that if you say something that hurts my feelings, you have to feel guilty about it?"

            He looked at her askance. "You're confusing me with the King of Brooding, again."

            "Oh. My bad." She watched him pull tomatoes, a block of Swiss cheese, lettuce, and the pan of whole chicken that Dawn had cooked the night before. Buffy hadn't felt like cooking, and Dawn turned out not to be too bad a cook. No one died of food poisoning, at least, and Willow considered that a plus.

            As he laid the food out across the counter and pulled a loaf of bread out of the cabinet, Spike casually flicked a glance at her. "So, wanna talk about what's been botherin' you?"

            "Bothering me? You mean aside from the whole 'Anya slaughtered a dozen preppie guys with a giant spider demon and now Buffy has to go kill _her_, and I have to watch Xander's heart break all over again?" She sighed. "I mean, not that I particularly _like_ Anya, I mean, she is a pain in the ass…But, still. She's a member of the Scoobies, just like you and me." 

            Nodding, Spike pulled a knife out of the drawer behind him and started to slice the tomato on the counter in front of him. "And you wish there was a way to stop it without Demon-girl dying."

            "Well, yeah."

            Without looking up, he asked, "Mayonnaise or mustard?"

            "Huh?"

            He smiled and met her confused gaze. "On your sandwich, pet."

            "Oh… Well, would I be breaching the kosher laws if I said mayo _and_ mustard?" Willow asked, slightly worried about the technicalities.

            He smiled. "Well, I think mayo was questionable, but you made up for it by dilutin' it with th' mustard." He reached over, grabbed a plate, and put down two slices of bread. "So, what do you suggest? We can't very well stop Buffy from doing her job. You know that as well as I." He followed this by reaching into the fridge again, putting the tomatoes back and retrieving the mustard and mayo. Spreading the two sauces on the slices of bread, he waited for her to respond.

            She worried her lower lip between her teeth. She was silent for a few minutes, saying nothing as she thought.

            In the silence, Spike finished making her sandwich, adding the lettuce and freshly sliced chicken before placing the other slice of bread over the creation and sliding the plate across the counter to her. She broke from her reverie and looked up at him. "I know! If…if Anya could just take _back_ what she did then maybe Buffy wouldn't have to kill her!"

            Spike shook his head as he turned to the sink and washed off the knife. Putting the ingredients to the sandwich back in the fridge, he looked over at her. "'s not that easy, Red. Vengeance demons, as a rule, don't purposefully reverse their wishes. If I recall, Anya got her arse suspended over reversing that sluggoth demon, remember?"

            Willow nodded slowly. "Yeah…She told me about that. They suspended her teleporting privileges. She had to file flight plans and everything. It was yucky."

            "Would be easier on her if she had some higher-up's permission to do the reversal, though…" Spike mused, purposefully leading Willow's train of thought.

            Her eyes lit up as she smiled at him. "Of course! D'Hoffryn gave me a charm to summon him if I ever needed him." At Spike's confused look, she waved her hand dismissively. "He tried to recruit me into the whole vengeance-y thing a couple of years ago. Said I had 'potential'." She formed quotation marks with her fingers on the last word. "But, I could summon him and tell him what's going to happen if Anya doesn't reverse the wish. He likes me. I think he'll listen."

            Spike snorted. "Bloke's a bleedin' poof, but whatever you say, if you think it'll work, ducks." He tilted his head. "I think you've come up with a brilliant plan. Now try your sandwich." He went and warmed up some more blood in the microwave, leaning with his elbows on the countertop as he watched her for a reaction.

            She took a small bite, chewing slowly. As she swallowed, her eyes widened and she took a larger bite. After swallowing that bite, she grinned at him. "Wow. Great sandwich."

            Spike smirked at her and winked. "Mazeltov."

            Slowly, Buffy made her way down the stairs. Her eyes were slightly red from worrying and a few tears. She caught Spike's eye from the kitchen and he excused himself from Willow's company to go to her. She breathed in and out a few times. As he neared her, she motioned for him to follow her to the living room, which he did.

            "You leaving now?" he asked softly.

            She nodded silently. Taking a deep breath, she stared into his eyes, finding a hidden reserve of strength that he'd always kept there just for her. "Dawn's spending the night at her friend Kit's. She'll be back after school tomorrow."

            Spike returned the nod, reaching out to hesitantly graze her shoulder with his fingertips. He mistook the tensing of her body to mean that she had disliked the contact and withdrew his hand hastily. He didn't realize that the tension was her trying to keep focused on her task, avoiding crushing her lips to his in response to his touch.

            He gestured to the sword she held in her hand. "You sure you're ready to do this?"

            "Spike, I _have_ to…"

            "Shh… I know, Buffy. I know it's your duty. But I mean _you_, are you ready to kill Anya?" He looked into her eyes with tenderness. "Red's got an idea that might help you not have to. Have Demon-girl reverse the wish and repent of her vengeance ways, and all that…"

            Buffy sighed and steeled herself, not breaking her gaze with Spike. "If it works, more power to Willow. But I'm not about to take the chance that it doesn't work and Anya grants another wish that winds up making Sunnydale a crater."

            He nodded. "Do you want me to help you? Go with?"

            She smiled softly and shook her head. "No. Thank you, but no. This I need to do myself."

            He said nothing else. Just looked into her eyes, and she could practically _feel_ the words in her head, with that British accent of his. _Good luck, luv. Come home safely…_

            She nodded somberly, gave his shoulder a light squeeze that passed as a hug, and walked out the door, closing it softly behind her.

            He stood there for a few moments, staring at the way she'd gone, still reliving her touch. Then, he turned and purposefully strode into the kitchen. Willow looked up at him and he gestured upstairs. "All right, Sabrina, let's get with th' summoning."

***********************

"Beautiful. Just beautiful! It looks like somebody slaughtered an Abercrombie and Fitch catalogue…"

   -- D'Hoffryn, "Selfless"

***********************

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's Note:    **Well, sorry about the length of time it's been since I posted. I could tell you about how my boyfriend came back into town and is totally non-supportive of my fanfic writing, calling it stupid, therefore I avoided doing it while it was Thanksgiving week and he was here… Or I could tell you about how, right before and after he left, I got severely ill with the flu and pharyngitis and couldn't move from bed for three days without help… Oooh! _OR_ I could tell you about how after all THAT wound itself up and I spent my daughter's 1st birthday this week bitching her father out for not putting in an appearance on her _birthday_ of all days, my farkin' PHONE got turned off for a week because the idiot phone company didn't know how to process the payment that I gave them before the due date, therefore making me suffer through three different CSR's telling me that I didn't pay them and it's all my fault. I threatened to catch the next plane to their headquarters, pregnant or not, and kick their asses, and they said I could speak to a supervisor the following Monday, what number would be good to call me back? "Oh, geez, I don't know, the number you DISCONNECTED, perhaps???"  Needless to say, I bitched and threatened and complained, and fully expect to get a free month of phone service for my troubles. I refuse to go through this crap and PAY for it. Would you?    Yeah. I could tell you about all of that, but what would be the point? I have a new chapter up, so enjoy. wink and please pardon the pregnant lady's ranting. I'm a sick, single mom and I don't get out much. So, review the story. It's the only happy I get nowadays. giggles For those of you who asked to see more of Xander, here's your chapter. 

Oh. Also: the poem at the beginning of this chapter is one that I found in a book while I was working at a hotel gift shop a couple of months ago. I had to copy it, so sue me. It's not mine. That's my disclaimer. The author's name will appear at the bottom of the poem excerpt. I just know that this poem, when I read it, bowled me over with "Spike and Buffy"ness. 

Chapter 9 

To love 

_Means to communicate_

_To the other_

_That you are all for him,_

_That you will never fail him_

_Or let him down_

_When he needs you,_

_But that you will always_

_Be standing by._

_¾ Ashley Montagu_

            When Spike came downstairs from the bedroom he shared with Buffy, the first thing he noticed was Xander sitting on the couch. The second thing he noticed was that the man _wasn't_ attempting to end his unlife. He looked around for Willow, but the witch's room upstairs had been empty and a cursory downstairs glance declined to yield her. His mind chimed in with her most likely location: _Survey says…school library._ He heartily agreed. He wouldn't have wanted to be here after the Slaying of Anya, either. He edged his way casually towards the kitchen to warm himself a cup of blood. He fully intended to high tail it back upstairs before Xander's hands found something sharp and wooden. _No love lost there…_As the blood warmed, what puzzled him was why Buffy wasn't here, as well. Logically, if Xander was here… well, honestly, there _was_ no logical reason for him to be in the Summers' living room while the Slayer was out dicing his ex-girlfriend. The microwave beeped and Spike gingerly retrieved the mug, heading for the stairs. 

            Xander's voice stopped him in his tracks. "Spike… Could you spare a minute?"

            The vampire tilted his head slightly, assessing this bizarre character deviation on the other man's part. However, it wasn't the words that finally convinced him to join the man on the couch, it was the pain in his voice. He knew that pain too well. Anya wasn't dead, but to his little world, she might as well be. He slowly walked to the edge of the living room. "All right," he drawled carefully, keeping a wary eye on Xander.

            Silence reigned in the room for a few minutes, both men not knowing how to begin the conversation. Or even what to converse about. Finally, Xander gestured to the mug that Spike was tentatively sipping at. "You, uh, got enough to last you. Blood, I mean."

            Spike nodded with a hint of his old smirk. "I got what you meant. And yeah, for a few more days. Countin' what's in the freezer…" His voice trailed off as he evaluated the other man. "You were the one that got it the first time, weren't you? Why?"

            Xander glared at the platinum-haired vampire for a moment before shrugging dejectedly and staring at his hands. "Buffy wants you here. You've actually gotten better since you've been out of that basement." He looked at Spike and smirked. "Don't get me wrong: Seeing you all crazy and such was well worth the price of admission," he received a raised eyebrow from the other, which he supposed was better than a raised finger, "but it hurt Buffy seeing you like that. She didn't come back 'wrong' when Willow did that spell…" He stared at his hands again, unable to meet Spike's gaze. "She came back in pieces. Some of them were missing. We just couldn't see that, we were all too obsessed with her being the Slayer and back on the job. We forgot that she was a person, too."

            Spike took a sip of his blood, contemplating his words, before crossing to the armchair and sitting on the edge of it. "She's always been a person, mate. Believe me," he snorted in self-derision, "when I was out to kill her and the rest of you those years ago, I forgot that, too. But whether or not you or I forget it, she'll always _be_ a person, with thoughts, feelings, needs, and fears. Just like you or me."

            Xander spread the hands he was inspecting, still not meeting the blue eyes of the vampire. "It's just… as long as I've known her, she's always been Super-Buffy. You know: 'This doesn't bother me, I'm the Slayer. I'm the One. The Chosen One. The Only One.' Hearing that repeatedly during high school tends to make you believe it…"

            "Maybe she just went on like that to make _herself_ believe it, mate." 

            "Yeah…well…" For the first time, Spike noticed that the young man had a flask and was sipping from it infrequently. He watched with interest and more than a little concern as Xander took such a sip now. "Point is, she wasn't happy when she came back. She was looking for something here, on Earth, to replace what she lost when we pulled her out of…" he pointed to the ceiling, "Heaven."

            Spike gave a half-smile. "And I'm to understand what you're saying, with the heaviest of irony, is that she found me."

            Xander snorted once with laughter. "Much with the irony, there, Fang-Boy."

            "Um, could you _not_ call me names? I haven't called you whelp, yet." Spike raised an eyebrow in irritation.

            Xander blinked, then laughed a little. "All right, point taken." He raised his flask. "I'd raise a white flag for the truce, but I seem to be out of flags, at the moment…"

            Spike simply followed the path the flask took to the young man's lips, wondering how he could ask him about his new drinking habit without turning to dust at his hands. "Harris, what's with th' flask?" Granted, not the _smoothest_ approach, he reprimanded himself, but it got attention.

            Xander shrugged. "I'm above legal age, I'm drowning my sorrows. I'm talking to you. Let's just say today's pretty bad."

            "I'll try not to take offense that you included me as evidence in your 'drastic measures'," Spike replied dryly. 

            "Well, you _did_ try to rape Buffy, if I were to go listing your offenses, that would be head of my list. Killing a person is one thing, raping them is another. By all rights, you should be fitting neatly into a dust buster right now…"

            "No need to rub it in," Spike said softly, never breaking Xander's gaze. "I know what I did. I'm not proud of it, it's downright shameful for me."

            "Well, I'm still piecing things together about that point in time. I know it's probably none of my business, the whole bunch of it, but I'm really confused. I mean, you want to kill her, but you love her, and you make a Buffybot… And she wants you, but she doesn't admit it, and she beats the crap out of you. Then she dies and comes back. _Now_, she's using you, you're still in love with her, much boinkage going on that I _really_ didn't want to find out about, and then Riley shows up with his perfect wife and she 'breaks up' with you…" He paused at the pain on the vampire's face. "See where I'm confused? And then …the 'bathroom scene'… and then you leave, for what we think is for good. The thing is, I never saw Buffy so upset as after you left. I always chalked it up to you having just tried to rape her and she wanted to dust you, but no…" He took a swig of his liquor. "It was her missing you, I think. Dawn was pissed at you when I let it slip what happened…but she missed you too. And then you come back all crazy and _none_ of us know what's up with you…"

            "But it's well worth the price of admission," Spike interrupted the monologue with a smirk.

            "Yeah. Something like that." Xander stared into his flask for a moment before holding it out in Spike's direction. "Drink?"

            Spike raised a scarred eyebrow. "If you're offering, I'm drinking." He accepted the flask and took a hearty swig. "Jack Daniels," he murmured appreciatively as he passed the flask back. "Good man."

            "Yeah, I _tried_ to be a 'good man' tonight. What did it get me? I pull a sword out of Anya's chest and she yells at me for stepping in to save her. D'Hoffryn steps in out of nowhere and makes a few snide remarks about me, then kills Halfrek so Anya can be human again. Real ways to spice up the evening, huh? Trade in the death of one vengeance demon for another…Buffy had to take a walk and do some patrolling to make herself feel better, I guess…"

            Spike winced. "So, Anya…?"

            "Remains one hundred percent un-slayed," Xander confirmed with another swig of the flask.

            "So, why the alcohol, mate?" Spike asked softly.

            Taking a deep breath, the younger man looked at him. "Perhaps it's because I finally realized what Cordelia told me a few years ago…" At Spike's confused look, he continued. "I'm nothing crucial to the Scooby Gang. I'm not a vampire slayer, I'm not a vampire – thank God – with superhuman strength, I'm not a witch, I'm not a Key, I'm not a Watcher, I'm not an ex-demon, or anyone with any special powers. I'm just a construction worker with a knack for running two steps faster than the demons chasing me." He fixed the vampire with a baleful gaze. "I'm the Zeppo."

            There was silence for a moment before Spike replied, "Now, I'm sure that's not true. In fact, with the new Big Bad that's coming, you may have an advantage that the others don't have… I'm betting you that the next major thing to come our way will be something only _you_ will be able to deal with properly."

            Xander laughed out loud. "Man, I'm not that drunk yet. Wait until I've downed a little more before you start seeing how gullible I am."

            They shared a laugh, an unusual thing for them to share, since it was something other than hatred. Finally, Spike stood. "All right, well, believe _this_: It's time to get you back home, before Buffy comes back to find you boozing on her couch. C'mon, I'll walk you back." He was faced with no objections from Xander, who pocketed his flask and attempted to stand on his own. 

            "You know, Spike," he told the vampire on their way out the door. "I might be able to work with you after all."

            "Good to hear it."

            Pause. Then, "I still very much hate you…"

            "I know, Harris. Believe me, I haven't forgotten…"

            When she got home after patrolling, she heard the water running in the bathroom upstairs. She slowly climbed the stairs and peered into her bedroom. Her breath was still coming ragged and fast, having exhausted herself with dusting vamps in an effort to forget the course of the evening. There were twigs and blades of grass woven into her blonde hair, and dirt smeared across the back of her outfit. She made a mental note to stop wearing her best outfits when she went out slaying. Steam wafted into her bedroom from the bathroom and she heard a humming, low and sexy. Listening to the familiar tune, she couldn't really place it…Then she noticed the steam smelled like hyacinth and honeysuckle. She frowned. Since when did Spike take scented baths? 

            The water stopped running at the same time as the humming ceased. He came out of the bathroom, fully clothed, reaching to the dresser near the door of the bathroom for her towel and washrag set that he had left there. Noticing her, he gave her a small smile. 

            "I'll be out of here in a moment, Buffy. Then you can get to the business of getting undressed for your bath." He turned and placed the terry cloth items on the sink and moved to leave her bedroom. She surprised the both of them by catching his arm with her hand and looking into his eyes.

            "You… drew a bath for me? With scented bubbles and everything?" The shock could not have been more evident in her voice.

            "T-that's right," he found himself unable to meet her gaze and wished he could sink through the floor. "Just wanted to give you a way to relax. I know tonight was difficult."

            She was silent for a moment. "You know tonight was difficult, but you also know I didn't kill her…"

            He nodded. "The whelp… Harris, was here. Bit worse for wear, but overall relieved I think. Depressed, but relieved."

            She shook her head and sighed. "Xander…"

            He frowned and lifted her chin with his index finger. "You had it rough tonight, too. Don't forget that." He thought for a moment before spinning her to face the door of the bathroom. "Wait. On second thought, get in there and forget about it."

            She felt him give her a small push towards the bathroom, but stopped and spun back to face him. "Spike," she murmured to his back as he tried to leave. 

            He turned. "Yes?"

            Crossing to him, she lifted her face to his and pressed her lips softly against his in a chaste kiss. "Thank you," she whispered. "No one's ever done this for me before. It means more to me than you know."

            As she disappeared into the bathroom, her mind a swirl of confusion regarding Spike and feelings in general, Spike's eyes slowly misted over. "Cor, pet…" he whispered into the emptiness of the bedroom. "I wish you could feel what you do to me…" And he quickly retreated downstairs, grabbing his duster, and went outside for a cigarette. His lips still tingled with fire from contact with her warm ones. Oh, yes. Tonight would be full of wonderful dreams.

TBC! happydance


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's Note: ** Someone pat me on the back for finishing this chapter! It took me five days to write! pant pant, wheeze wheeze Someone was beating me over the head with a writer's block. pout Short but sweet. And there's a reason for the first part of this chapter, something to do with the upcoming overhaul of the "Him" episode. That and gratuitous Spuffy moments that we all know and crave…

Review, please!

Chapter 10 

            She slept fitfully that night. It wasn't that the bath hadn't been relaxing, quite the contrary. Her mind wouldn't let her rest, though. She tossed and turned, trying to get to a position in which she could attain sleep. None was forthcoming. Thoughts of Spike, who lay on his mattress less than six feet away, plagued her. In her dreams, she had nightmares. She dreamt of being ripped from Heaven. Only the Heaven she was ripped from was in Spike's arms. She dreamt of his love for her and how she had beaten him down, with physical blows and verbal attacks. She had ripped _herself_ from Heaven. Or at least as close as she could have gotten to it here on earth. She was being given a second chance at that. Was she willing to take it? Or was she just too scared…

            She tossed again, winding up on her side, facing Spike. She gasped softly, noting how she could see clearly into his open eyes through the darkness. He was staring at her, watching her, with what appeared to be deep concern.

            "H-how long have you been awake?" she murmured, trying to recover from being startled.

            "Never went to sleep. Been watching you all night," came the reply.

            "Why?"

            He propped himself up on one elbow. "I should think the answer'd be obvious, lu-… Buffy." His brow creased slightly. "What's got you so worked up that you aren't sleeping? Something wrong?"

            "No," she lied. "I'm fine. Really. Just a little restlessness. I'm in need of a good slay."

            Even in the darkness, she could tell he was raising an eyebrow at her in disbelief. When had she gotten so attuned to his mannerisms? She heard movements and in the dim light could see him propping himself up on one elbow to look at her better. The action caused the blanket to slide down off of his shoulders and pool around his waist, revealing a very sculpted, if scarred, chest and abdomen. She had to keep her eyes focused on his face… _No! Do NOT stare at the sexy vampire… BAD Buffy…_

            She heard him speaking. "Buffy?"

            _Yes, my name. Good. That would be me… _"Hmm?"

            "You're staring." His voice rumbled softly in that low chuckle of his. 

            _Nope, definitely hasn't lost his touch… Soul or no soul…And is he naked under there?… NO! Bad Buffy!_

            "See?" he chuckled. "What is it?"

            Buffy blinked. "What is what?"

            "You're going to play innocent now?"

            _Damn skippy. _"Innocent about what?"

            He growled softly. "Never mind. Try to get some sleep, eh, Slayer?"

            Silence descended on the pair as Spike lay back down to try to catch some sleep. Finally, after tossing here and turning there a few more times, Buffy turned to face the vampire's form in the darkness. "Spike?"

            "Yes?"

            Pause. "Thank you for my bath."

            She didn't know that his mind was now caught up in the memory of her lips on his. "I think you already thanked me enough, Buffy," he murmured softly. She heard him violently toss on the air mattress, then a subsequent _POP!_ as the mattress revealed its distaste for the action. The high-pitched whine of air quickly leaking out of the mattress distracted her only momentarily from the sight of Spike flailing amongst blankets and rapidly deflating rubber. Soon, he was tangled up, and when the thrashing stopped and she could stop giggling, she made out a very distinct "Bloody hell!"

            She poked her head over the edge of the mattress so that she was looking at him more closely. With an impish grin she said, "Now, now… Such language from someone with a shiny new soul… Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?"

            Whipping the blanket off of his head enough so his face was showing, his hair skewed at a rakish angle, he smiled suggestively at her. "Come a bit closer, Slayer. We'll see who this mouth winds up kissing…" He struggled with the blankets and the deflated mattress a bit more.

            Taking pity on him, she swung her legs over the side of the bed and went to the futile battle that was being fought. Apparently, the bedclothes were winning. "Here," she giggled, unwrapping the blanket from around his neck, his shoulders peeking through a bit more. Biting the inside of her cheek to distract herself from feeling those shoulders, she continued working on the knot that was Spike. She studiously avoided the hint of a glimmer that came from his eyes, which were currently staring at her.

            He stopped struggling and let her work, content to watch her. He took his gaze off of her face only momentarily as he took in her spaghetti-strapped top and pajama shorts. With his advanced sight – the only time in recent months he had thanked anything for being a vampire – he could see the swath of abdomen that was showing between the two garments. He fervently hoped that Buffy managed to get him loosened enough to where he could handle the rest of the mess on his own, before she discovered the certain discomfort that had arisen not too far from where her hands currently were. 

            She continued working at the tangle of blankets and mattress, finally getting an arm free. She jumped slightly when his now-free hand snaked out and grabbed her by the wrist, stopping her from continuing her actions. She stared at him in the darkness, looking into his eyes, which were now cloudy with lust. It was a look she hadn't seen him give her, openly, in a long time. Certainly not since his return trip from Africa. No words came to her, she simply gazed back at him.

            "Buffy," he ground out, huskily, "I can take it from here." Her lower lip jutted out in a pout and he groaned softly, fighting every instinct that he had to kiss her. "Luv, _please_ don't do that…"

            Something beneath the mess of covers jumped against Buffy's hand and her eyes widened in momentary surprise. Then a smile played across her lips. Now she knew that Spike had it just as badly as she did. _Play time…_ "But, Spike," she said through her continued pout, "I was just trying to help. How was I supposed to know you were naked under there…?"

            His eyebrows raised suddenly in shock, then he smirked back at her. "Some things never change, you know."

            "Oh," she said lightly. "I just figured, you know, with the new soul and guilt tripping and all, you'd be decked out in flannel pajamas or something." She shrugged, ignoring the errant strap that slipped down her shoulder, exposing the tops of her breasts.

            Somehow finding the strength to suppress another groan, Spike threw his head back in frustration. "Arghh… I feel guilty about _killing_ people, pet. Not about sleeping bloody _naked_!"

            "Well you should," she replied blithely, flipping her hair back over one shoulder. "Evil vampire."

            A raised eyebrow. "Something bothering you now, luv?"

            A retaliatory smirk. "Apparently not as much as it's bothering you, Spike, dear." Giving his throbbing area a pat, she stood, offering her hand out to him. "Come on."

            "Beg pardon?"

            "You can't exactly sleep on the floor, vampire or not."

            Tentatively, he grasped her hand and stood, careful to keep the blanket secured around his waist. She reached behind him to pick up his pillow and guided him around the end of her bed to the other side. His eyes widened and he backpedaled, crashing to the floor as his feet tangled up in the blanket once more. "W-hat the hell…?"

            Irritated, she blew air through thinned lips. "Spike, you never used to be this afraid of getting into my bed… If I recall, you used to try for it regularly."

            He shot her a dirty look. "Yes, but that was before I completely lost my mind. Apparently, it's catching," he muttered as a finishing statement.

            "I heard that. Now get up. You're not sleeping on the floor, and I won't have you naked on the couch when Dawn comes home." She hauled him up and pushed him to the bed. "Don't worry. You stay on your side, and I'll stay on mine."

            "I don't know if it'll be that simple, Buffy," he murmured.

            Climbing into her side of the bed, she stared into his eyes. "Spike, things have really been going the way of the wacky lately. And when it comes to you, nothing is ever simple." She continued talking as she settled him in, tucking the blanket securely around him and settling the pillow under his head. "I don't know where things are going, but know this: Things are up for a major overhaul in Buffyland."

            His arms were crossed protectively over where the blanket ended around his abdomen, and he couldn't take his eyes from hers. "Still doesn't explain you lettin' me in your bed, after…"

            "Spike? Shut up." She sighed and lay back down, resting her head against his where his shoulder met his neck. "I don't have an explanation. Not yet anyways. But this… feels right." She lifted her head slightly and planted a soft kiss against his cheek. "You never know what you have till you lose it… Or in my case, push it away. But I swear to whatever gods are out there that if you leave me again I will find you and shove a stake up your ass."

            He chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as she snuggled up against his chest. "Seeing as how that'd be a mite uncomfortable, I think I'll just stay here then, Buffy."

            A brief pause, then, "Call me pet."

            He brushed his lips over her forehead before closing his eyes to sleep. "Whatever you say, pet."

            _I will never get over how the collision of a mass of sweaty bodies is still considered a sport,_ Buffy mused as she and Dawn ate lunch, while watching the Sunnydale High School football team practice. _For me, that's just a good evening of slayage…_

            "So what is it?" Dawn interrupted her thoughts.

            "What's what?"

            "Well, anytime I've talked to you you've told me you weren't helping Spike out of pity, so what is it?"

            Buffy raised the soda can with the straw in it to her lips, pausing to look at Dawn through her sunglasses. "It's a good question." There was silence as she sipped her soda and stared at the sweaty teenage males on the field.

            "Is sitting there drinking soda some kind of a Zen non-answer?" Dawn quipped.

            "No, I just… I don't know what I'm feeling. I think I can't stand him, but sometimes…" Her voice trailed off as she replayed last night's events in her mind.

            "You love him?"

            "No," she said, a little too abruptly for it to be truth. "I feel for him."

            Dawn flipped her hair as she peered at her sister. "Feel what, exactly?"

            Buffy shook her head and looked away. "Dawn…"

            "No, I'm just trying to understand. I mean, none of it makes sense. First you say Spike disgusts you but secretly you two are doing it like bunnies. And then Spike says he'd die for you but he tries to rape you." Dawn's brow furrowed as her hands waved in the air.

            Buffy sighed deeply. "For the record, Spike knew how wrong it was. That's why he went away."

            "But to get a soul? Like that would make him a better man? Xander had a soul when he stood Anya up at the altar. And now he says he still wants her? I just don't think it's the school basement that's making people crazy." The younger girl shook her head in dismay.

            Buffy started to gather her things, glad to get this conversation over with. "I should really get back. You coming with?"

                Her sister didn't move, still gesturing wildly in the air with her hands. "I just don't see why people bother. I mean, you put all this energy into chasing and having and brooding and— I just don't understand these relationships where you all do insane things."

            Buffy smiled and waved. "Bye, rant girl."

            Dawn stared at her sister's retreating back as she continued speaking. "Well, you could like paint a beautiful mural on every ugly wall in the world and then you could paint a beautiful mural on every ugly mural in the wor—" Her words failed her as her gaze fell on the quarterback of the football team, sweaty, panting, and putting on a well-worn letterman's jacket. He doused his face with water, shook his head, and slowly made his way off the field.

            Mesmerized, Dawn followed him with her eyes until she leaned too far forward. With a scream, she fell off the bleachers.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

            TBC!


	11. Chapter 11

**Author's Note:   **Sorry it's been so long. I'm afraid I have yet to update When Spike Met Buffy, either. Busy holiday season. ::sigh:: Anyway, to clear some things up for some people who have asked: I'm following the lines that were set by the established eps already. I'm basically just making sure that it's better. LOL Spike's getting a better role this season. It'll be angsty, just cuz there's only so much I can do with the already crappy material that they've fed us this season. But there will be a sweet Spuffy ending. I promise. I also wanted to get this chapter out before my computer completely dies. It may be awhile before I can fix it, but here's hoping…

Chapter 11 

            Furiously pacing the room, Spike threw his hands in the air and shook his head, trying to ignore the sound coming out of his tormentor's mouth. "Leave me alone! You're not here! I'm here, who are you? Get out! This isn't the time! Not hardly proper…"

            In the corner of the bedroom that Spike and Buffy shared, the figure smiled ominously. Stepping out of the shadows and into the frustrated vampire's path, Spike was forced to stop and stare directly into his own face. Then his own mouth – only on the _other_ face – opened with a cocky smirk. "You know the plan. We've been _over_ this… the timing has to be perfect or the whole thing's shot to hell."

            "NO!" Spike exploded, backing away from himself. "You don't exist!"

            "Oh, but I _do_," Fake-Spike returned. "Soon it'll be _you_ that won't exist, perhaps… But," he stepped forward until he was less than three inches from Spike's face, "I have always been here. I've _always_ existed, waiting for my big number. And mate, the orchestra's warming up…"

            With that, his borrowed features stretched into a painfully wide grin. Terrified, Spike ran a hand over his face, blinking. When he opened his eyes, less than a second later, the imposter was gone. There was no trace of his ever having stood there.

            Numbly, Spike sat on the edge of Buffy's bed and stared off into space, trying to block out the insanity of his conversation with _himself_…

            Later in the day, as it was approaching the time that the Summers girls would come home from school, Spike was down in the basement throwing laundry in the washing machine. He had brought down the old clothes of his from his… no, _Clem's_ crypt, as well as a hamper full of Buffy's clothing that she hadn't yet found time to wash. He wasn't about to go into Dawn's room to find clothes to wash… or more accurately, to find the carpet _through_ the myriad piles of clothes. She may not be overtly hostile to him now, but he was not about to take chances with particularly dusty consequences, one of which being rifling through a teenager's room without their expressed, written permission in triplicate. 

            _Best to let her do her own damned laundry,_ he groused silently. He reached up to the shelf above the washing machine and grabbed the bottle of detergent, pouring in a liberal amount before dropping the lid to let the cycle begin. He turned around and jumped backwards and up so that he was sitting on the now-active machine. Fishing the pack of cigarettes out of his pants pocket, along with a lighter, he lit one up and inhaled deeply. He sat that way for a while, enjoying the way the smoke from the tip of the cigarette curled into the air, providing him the ability to watch it and blank all conscious thought from his mind. He had no idea how long he sat there, or how many cigarettes he'd smoked, but when the voice interrupted his thoughtless haven the washing machine had already stopped its cycle. 

            "You know, those things will kill you."

            Jumping down off the machine and stubbing his latest cigarette out in the ashtray on the shelf, Spike opened the lid to pull the clothes out and throw them in the dryer. "Har bloody har, Bit," he snarked back at the brunette behind him.

            He heard movements behind him and he half-turned to see Dawn rifling through old musty boxes in the corner. He leaned up against the dryer, propping his elbows on it behind him, raising a scarred eyebrow. When she appeared to have come across what she had been searching for, he blinked in surprise. She was holding up Buffy's old cheerleading uniform. He'd never had the pleasure of actually seeing Buffy _in_ it, but he'd heard the tales – lewd, mostly – from Angelus after the whole "moment of happiness" debacle. What really interested him was that, as far as he knew, Dawn was completely anti-cheerleading. He vaguely recollected a conversation they'd had a couple of months before he'd left…

            _"Nibblet, you ever think about being a cheerleader, I will follow you around to every practice until you come home, just to make sure no bloody wankers try anything…"_

_            "Jeez, Spike, freaky much?" she'd scoffed. "Besides, cheerleaders, well… except for Buffy, are all shallow bleach-bottle creations. God, please _shoot_ me if I ever show signs of losing my mind to become a short-skirt clone…"_

            Hence the reason Spike stood there puzzled as Dawn pulled the yellow and burgundy outfit completely out of the box and held it up to check the size. "Nice outfit you got there, pet," he said slowly, startling her to the point where she almost dropped the uniform. 

            "Spike!" she exclaimed. "I f-forgot you were there…" 

            "You f-forgot?" he chuckled, mimicking her stammer. "I seriously doubt that to be the case."

            "Well," Dawn said defensively, placing a hand on her hip. Her brow furrowed, as something inside her seemed to spark to anger. "It's not like it's any of your business what I'm doing anyway. I'm doing this because I am in love… Who loves _you_, Spike? You're barely welcome here. Buffy doesn't love you…" She stopped, biting her lip, realizing she may have gone too far. 

            Spike, for his part, said nothing. He didn't move. He simply stared at the demon standing in front of him that looked like Dawn, and sounded like Dawn, but wasn't acting like the girl he had come to grow so fond of in the past two years. Neither of them moved, locked in a painful eye contact that neither was willing to break. In that moment, Spike knew without a doubt that something was amiss, as well as re-examined his place in the life of the Summers' women. He wasn't very shocked to find that he couldn't find one for himself.

            After several moments of silence, he tilted his head and lowered his gaze to the uniform. "You… might want to take that wherever you were going to take it before Buffy sees you." He turned, showing his back to her, and focused all of his attention on the dryer. Or so it seemed. The slight hunch of his shoulders and the fact that he was slowly and deeply inhaling in an apparent effort to steady himself told Dawn that she had definitely crossed the line.

            She worried her lip between her teeth for a brief moment as she stared at his back, then quickly made her way up the stairs.

            "Dawn?" Buffy's voice startled the younger girl into hiding the purloined uniform under her bed, mere seconds before her older sister opened the door. "Have you seen Spike?"

            Feeling a twinge of guilt for her earlier outburst, Dawn tamped it down and shook her head. "Not lately, why? He might be in the basement doing laundry…"

            "No," Buffy leaned against the doorframe and crossed her arms, a worried look coming to her face. "I've checked there too. I've been all over the house and he's not in it."

            Dawn forced a small laugh. "Yeah, that's Spike for you. Never around when you want him, always around when you don't…" She trailed off at the raised eyebrow Buffy gave her. "Well," she gestured to the window. "It's after dark. He's probably out enjoying the world that is _not_ our home."

            Buffy gnawed at her lower lip for a moment, then nodded and left Dawn's room, leaving the younger Summers girl to breathe an unnoticed sigh of relief. As Buffy made her way down the stairs she noticed the door opening, and for a brief moment she felt hope that it was Spike about to walk over the threshold. _No such luck,_ she mentally cursed as she discovered a mere second later that it was only Xander.

            "Wow. There must be a mass-injuring of knuckles in the Scooby Gang," Buffy muttered dryly as she headed into the kitchen, taking a seat next to Willow as the witch sipped at her tea. Willow raised a questioning eyebrow at her as Xander stood in the kitchen entrance, utterly confused. Elaborating, Buffy shrugged her shoulders. "I mean, something has to be to blame for the change nowadays… Remember when people used to make some sort of _noise_ at the door, then _wait_ for the person inside to open it?"

            "Ah yes, politeness," Xander rejoined with a smile. "I believe we may have studied that briefly in high school. It's one of those subjects that we never think we'll use in life…"

            Willow winked at him. "So it gets filed away in the 'useless' pile, along with 'Algebra'?"

            Xander made a face. "Actually, I think mine got shelved behind 'Foreplay'…"

            "Okay," Buffy pushed away from the counter and busied herself getting something to drink. "_So_ didn't need to hear that, mister."

            Laughing, Xander gestured in the air. "Oh, come on, Buffy. Besides, the rude entering of people's homes, uninvited, is what separates us humans from the vampire community."

            Oblivious to the glare Buffy shot Xander, Willow leaned in for a confused whisper. "They've formed a community now?"

            "Yes, Wills. I hear there's talk of them forming their first town dance, also. Just don't drink the punch…"

            Setting down her cup of tea loudly, Buffy snorted and shook her head. "You have _way_ too much time on your hands, you two. I think it's time we changed the subject before I change the slaying rule to include humans." She shook her head humorously and gingerly took a sip of her beverage.

            "Yes, and speaking of painful topics, where _is_ the Walking Dead?" Xander joked, leaning back on his stool briefly.

            Staring down into her mug, Buffy shook her head slowly. "I don't know, but he's not here."

            Willow broke the silence that descended upon the three with a comforting smile to Buffy. "Well, I'm sure he's all right, Buffy." Off Buffy's look, she continued hastily, "I mean, _hello_… Century-or-so-old vampire, only briefly insane, but still able to take care of himself, right?"

            "We don't know that, Wills," Buffy said softly. In the same low tone, after she had checked to make sure no one was standing within earshot of their conversation, she said, "And Dawn was acting majorly strange when I asked her where he was."

            Xander leaned forward slightly, concern creeping over his features. "Strange? Strange how?"

            "Like, guilt-trippage strange." She shook her head and stood up. "I have to get ready to patrol. Hopefully I'll find him out there." She went to the sink to rinse out her mug. 

            "Oh, man," Willow breathed, turning to Xander. "Even with how well Spike's been doing lately, he's still fragile. If Dawn said something to him that wasn't…"

            Xander nodded. "Yeah, no love lost between me and Dead-Boy Junior, but I get what you're saying. And," he muttered, "he did help me out the other night." He ignored Willow's questioning look, turning his gaze to Buffy. "Buffster, you need help finding, er…_patrolling_, tonight?"

            The blonde stopped and shook her head before offering him a smile. "Thanks, but no. Just… stay here with Dawn?"

            Her friends nodded as she silently went upstairs to change. She blinked, trying to clear the mist forming in her eyes as she decided what outfit to wear.

TBC


End file.
